"H-m," he thought, "that looks
singularly like my friend, the Alligator. I'll
investigate a bit."
He stood quite still and began to talk
to himself,--it was a little way he had. He
said,--
"The little figs I like best are the fat,
ripe, juicy ones that drop off when the
breeze blows; and then the wind blows
them about on the ground, this way and
that; the great heap of figs over there is
so still that I think they must be all bad
figs."
The old Alligator, underneath his fig
pile, thought,--
"Bother the suspicious little Jackal,
I shall have to make these figs roll about,
so that he will think the wind moves
them." And straightway he humped himself
up and moved, and sent the little figs
flying,--and his back showed through.
The little Jackal did not wait for a
second look. He ran out of the garden
like the wind. But as he ran he called
back,--
"Thank you, again, Mr. Alligator; very
sweet of you to show me where you are; I
can't stay to thank you as I should like:
good-by!"
At this the old Alligator was beside
himself with rage. He vowed that he
would have the little Jackal for supper
this time, come what might. So he crept
and crawled over the ground till he came
to the little Jackal's house. Then he crept
and crawled inside, and hid himself there
in the house, to wait till the little Jackal
should come home.
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