nd their chickens' chickens, even down to this very day.
Whenever you see a speckled hen you may know that she is descended
from the little white hen who carried a letter to the king, and who,
in her adventures, became the first speckled hen.

VIII

How the Monkey Became a

Trickster

Once upon a time there was a beautiful garden in which grew all sorts
of fruits. Many beasts lived in the garden and they were permitted to
eat of the fruits whenever they wished. But they were asked to observe
one rule. They must make a low, polite bow to the fruit tree, call it
by its name, and say, "Please give me a taste of your fruit." They had
to be very careful to remember the tree's correct name and not to
forget to say "please." It was also very important that they should
remember not to be greedy. They must always leave plenty of fruit for
the other beasts who might pass that way, and plenty to adorn the tree
itself and to furnish seed so that other trees might grow. If they
wished to eat figs they had to say, "O, fig tree, O, fig tree, please
give me a taste of your fruit;" or, if they wished to eat oranges they
had to say, "O, orange tree, O, orange tree, please give me a taste of
your fruit."

In one corner of the garden grew the most splendid tree of all. It was
tall and beautiful and the rosy-cheeked fruit upon its wide spreading
branches looked wonderfully tempting. No beast had ever tasted of that
fruit, for no beast could ever remember its name.

In a tiny house near the edge of the garden dwelt a little old woman
who knew the names of all the fruit trees which grew in the garden.
The beasts often went to her and asked the name of the wonderful fruit
tree, but the tree was so far distant from the tiny house of the
little old woman that no beast could ever remember the long, hard name
by the time he reached the fruit tree.

At last the monkey thought of a trick. Perhaps you do not know it, but
the monkey can play the guitar. He always played when the beasts
gathered together in the garden to dance. The monkey went to the tiny
house of the little old woman, carrying his guitar under his arm. When
she told him the long hard name of the wonderful fruit tree he made up
a little tune to it, all his own, and sang it over and over again all
the way from the tiny house of the little old woman to the corner of
the garden where the wonderful fruit tree grew. When any of the other
beasts met him and asked him what ne