The Child's Story

One summer night, when the sun had vanished behind the brown hills and the gentle breeze rose up to play with the stars, the snake slipped out from among the stones to take the air.

The snake spoke, raising her head and looking about her with her two wicked eyes — for in that age she could talk, just like you and me. She said, "What a beautiful evening!" And then her glance fell on the field mouse, and she said, "Good evening, Mr. Mouse. Where are you off to?"

The mouse, moving away from her, said, "I am going to listen to the singing of the warbling nightingale." Then he leaped nimbly and vanished from sight in the dark of night.

The snake shook her head, saying, "That animal would have made me a delicious supper," and she opened her jaws wide at the thought. Then she went back to communing with herself: "I suppose they have all gone to watch the nightingale. And there is an idea — for there I shall find supper enough and more. So I shall go too." And

she slithered on her way to the nightingale's place.

The nightingale meanwhile was trying over some melodies, perched on the branch of a tamarind tree, and his voice was plaintive, reminding you of the murmur of sweet waters. There sat the rabbit and the hare and the mouse and the gazelle, and even the little owl who had left her nest in one of the ruins of the desert; and the he-frog was among those who had come to hear the nightingale's plaintive voice. And the nightingale sang, and he delighted and enraptured