When the snake had made this vow he curled up into a hoop and began to ponder.  One can hardly imagine anything that would be more difficult for a poor water-snake than to wreak vengeance upon a big, strong elk; and old Helpless pondered day and night without finding any solution.

One night, as he lay there with his vengeance-thoughts, he heard a slight rustle over his head.  He glanced up and saw a few light nun moths playing in among the trees.

He followed them with his eyes a long while; then began to hiss loudly to himself, apparently pleased with the thought that had occurred to him—­then he fell asleep.

The next morning the water-snake went over to see Crawlie, the adder, who lived in a stony and hilly part of Liberty Forest.  He told him all about the death of the old water-snake, and begged that he who could deal such deadly thrusts would undertake the work of vengeance.  But Crawlie was not exactly disposed to go to war with an elk.

“If I were to attack an elk,” said the adder, “he would instantly kill me.  Old Harmless is dead and gone, and we can’t bring her back to life, so why should I rush into danger on her account?”

When the water-snake got this reply he raised his head a whole foot from the ground, and hissed furiously: 

“Vish vash!  Vish vash!” he said.  “It’s a pity that you, who have been blessed with such weapons of defence, should be so cowardly that you don’t dare use them!”

When the adder heard this, he, too, got angry.

“Crawl away, old Helpless!” he hissed.  “The poison is in my fangs, but I would rather spare one who is said to be my kinsman.”

But the water-snake did not move from the spot, and for a long time the snakes lay there hissing abusive epithets at each other.

When Crawlie was so angry that he couldn’t hiss, but could only dart his tongue out, the water-snake changed the subject, and began to talk in a very different tone.

“I had still another errand, Crawlie,” he said, lowering his voice to a mild whisper.  “But now I suppose you are so angry that you wouldn’t care to help me?”

“If you don’t ask anything foolish of me, I shall certainly be at your service.”

“In the pine trees down by the swamp live a moth folk that fly around all night.”

“I know all about them,” remarked Crawlie.  “What’s up with them now?”

“They are the smallest insect family in the forest,” said Helpless, “and the most harmless, since the caterpillars content themselves with gnawing only pine needles.”

“Yes, I know,” said Crawlie.

“I’m afraid those moths, will soon be exterminated,” sighed the water-snake.  “There are so many who pick off the caterpillars in the spring.”

Now Crawlie began to understand that the water-snake wanted the caterpillars for his own purpose, and he answered pleasantly: 

“Do you wish me to say to the owls that they are to leave those pine tree worms in peace?”