Never! Not a single time have I seen a young one brought back. Isn’t that proof? It shows they spare the young—even the wild ones. And they spare the mothers too.” He faced Lisa. “You can trust me. And you can trust them too!”

Only half-reassured, the cow sighed, “If only you’re right . . . if only my baby does stay with me. . . .” She turned and lumbered into the barn. “I must lie down now.”

They could hear her slip carefully to the floor and then sigh deeply.

“You’re really dumb, my friend,” the donkey told the stallion.

Devil shook himself. “Dumb! You think you’re the only one that’s smart around here, I suppose. You’re fresh—that’s all.”

“I don’t know whether I’m smart or not,” Manni declared, “but I know it was mighty dumb of you to pretend to be so wise and then air your doubts and get the poor girl more upset than ever.”

The stallion galloped away rudely instead of answering.

Witch whispered to the donkey: “He doesn’t mean any harm. But it was good you told him. He certainly needs a lesson.” And, as if ashamed of her moment’s disloyalty, she cantered off after the stallion.

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Chapter 2

THE MOON HUNG HIGH IN the clear heaven. Gradually the stars grew fainter and by and by went out. Only the evening star still sparkled like a fiery jewel, competing with the moonlight well into the first hours of the new morning.

Yet even when day was still far off, a sweet song sounded from aloft. Tirelessly the charming voice exulted, telling the end of darkness and welcoming the approach of light.

It was the voice of the lark.

Of all creatures the humble lark awakens first. Long before the rooster crows, even before the blackbird begins his morning tune, the lark sings of her happy life. She rises from her nest in the fields, swings high into the air, a tiny, almost invisible dot—a pinpoint of melody, pouring her song richly, zestfully, down toward the earth.

Under a tightly woven shelter of fir branches, Martin sat without moving. Enchanted, he listened to the lark and patiently awaited the coming of the heath cocks.

“Shioo—sheed!”

There one came, swishing down to the edge of the field.

“Shioo—sheed!”

A second, a third, a fourth, a fifth—Martin could not count all that gathered. He heard only their wings beating the air as they landed on their mating ground.

At once they began their courtship dance, turning and bowing, uttering their monotonous “lu-lu-lu-lu—lu-lu-lu-lu.”

As the sky slowly grew brighter, they leaped at each other, pair by pair, breast to breast, forward and back. Their threatening beaks were wide open and hissing. Their wings hung loose as they danced, and they lifted them just a little off the ground in short, quick, violent movements. Finally they fell back to the forest floor and resumed their peaceful but hurried rivalry and their “lu-lu-lu-lu!” They twisted and turned like whirling dervishes. The feathers covering their tails on either side now spread out. They faced each other with bodies arched like scythes while the protruding red glands over their eyes swelled brighter and brighter.

Martin had brought no gun to shoot them with. He had come as spectator, and had no idea of cutting short the delightful performance. He held a pair of field glasses to his eyes to bring the company of birds closer to him. Through the magic lenses he watched the hens parade before the milling ranks of dancers and fighters, the excited cocks. The hens behaved like ladies who watch eagerly for attention, pretending indifference but thrilled at heart.

Martin was amazed by the performance of one of the dozen cocks—the smallest, who acted as if he were charged with high explosive. He called much louder than the others and leaped about more violently. Foolhardily he chased the others away from him until finally none dared approach. The glands shone from his forehead as if ready to burst.