I carried heavy loads and carried
them far. Now that I am old and weak
and cannot work, he leaves me without
food or water, to die by the wayside. Men
are a thankless lot. Let the Tiger eat the
Brahmin."
The Tiger sprang, but the Brahmin
spoke very quickly:--
"Oh, but this is only the second, Brother
Tiger; you promised to ask five."
The Tiger grumbled a good deal, but at
last he went on again with the Brahmin.
And after a time they saw an Eagle, high
overhead. The Brahmin called up to him
imploringly,--
"Oh, Brother Eagle, Brother Eagle!
Tell us if it seems to you fair that this
Tiger should eat me up, when I have just
saved him from a frightful cage?"
The Eagle soared slowly overhead a
moment, then he came lower, and spoke
in a thin, clear voice.
"I live high in the air," he said, "and I
do no man any harm. Yet as often as they
find my eyrie, men stone my young and rob
my nest and shoot at me with arrows.
Men are a cruel breed. Let the Tiger eat
the Brahmin!"
The Tiger sprang upon the Brahmin,
to eat him up; and this time the Brahmin
had very hard work to persuade him to
wait. At last he did persuade him,
however, and they walked on together. And
in a little while they saw an old Alligator,
lying half buried in mud and slime, at the
river's edge.
"Brother Alligator, oh, Brother Alligator!"
said the Brahmin, "does it seem
at all right or fair to you that this Tiger
should eat me up, when I have just now
let him out of a cage?"
The old Alligator turned in the mud,
and grunted, and snorted; then he said,
"I lie here in the mud all day, as
harmless as a pigeon; I hunt no man, yet every
time a man sees me, he throws stones at
me, and pokes me with sharp sticks, and
jeers at me.
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