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“Just so,” said the ox and cautiously took a step backwards. “The oxen will get their turn, now that he has tasted blood. He looks awfully greedy. And I feel as if he had eaten me before.”
“Humph!” said the lion. “There may be something in that. I don’t like beating about the bush as a rule. Let us go and have a word with the fellow.”
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He moved on; and the orang-outang skipped along eagerly in front of him:
“This way, this way,” he said.
The lion stopped under the tree where Two-Legs had made his home. All the other animals of the forest had followed him and stood listening and staring.
“Two-Legs!” roared the lion, with his mighty voice.
It sounded like thunder and they all started with fear. The lion lashed his tail and looked up at the tree. Not a sound came from it. He called out again, but there was no answer.
“The impudent beggars!” said the orang-outang.
“Perhaps they are dead,” said the nightingale. “Perhaps they have overeaten themselves with the sheep.”
“You don’t die of eating too much, but of eating too little,” said the pig, who kept rooting in the ground with his snout, in search of something for himself to eat.