“Pouf!” snorted the Crocodile.  “Her brother, indeed!  I am not her brother, and she knows it very well.  What a fool I was to be caught by such a word!  Just wait till I catch her again and we will see.  I will brother her!” And he swam sulkily away to hide his mortification in the Congo mud, with only the end of his long nose poking out as a ventilator for his breathing.

Now, though the Hen had had so narrow an escape, it had not sufficiently taught her a lesson.  A few days afterwards once more she went down to the river, for she could not resist the temptation of the bug-dinner which she knew she should find there.  But she kept her eyes open sharply for any greeny log which might be floating on the water, saying to herself, “Old Hungry-Mouth shall not catch me napping this time.  I know his wicked tricks!”

But this time the Crocodile was not floating on the water like a greeny log.  He was lying still as still, sunning himself on the river bank behind some tall reeds.  Mrs. Hen came trotting down to the water, a plump and tempting sight, cocking her head knowingly on one side as she spied a real log floating out beyond, which she took to be her enemy.  And as she scratched in the soft mud, chuckling to think how sly she was, with a rush and a rustle down pounced the Crocodile upon her, and once more, before she knew it, she found herself in the horrid gateway of his jaws, threatened by the double rows of long, white teeth.

[Illustration:  “O Brother, don’t!”]

“Oho!” snapped the Crocodile.  “You shall not escape me this time.  I am a log, am I?  Look at me again, Mrs. Hen.  Am I a log?” And he came at her to swallow her at once.

But again the Hen squawked, “O Brother, don’t!”

Again the Crocodile paused, thunderstruck by this extraordinary word.  “Oh, bother the Hen!” he cried, “what can she mean, really?  How can I be her brother?  She lives in a town on the land, and I live in my kingdom of mud and water.  How could two creatures possibly be more unlike?  How”—­but while he had been thinking of these hows, once more the Hen had managed to escape, and was pelting back to her barnyard as fast as she could go.

Then indeed the Crocodile was angry.  He determined to go and see Nzambi, the wise witch princess, about the matter.  She would tell him what it all meant.  But it was a long journey to her palace and he was awkward and slow in traveling upon land.  Before he had gone very far he was tired and out of breath, and stopped to rest under a banana tree.

As he lay panting in the shade he saw his friend Mbambi, the great Lizard, hurrying past through the jungle.

“Oh, Mbambi!” cried old Hungry-Mouth, “stop a moment.  I want to speak with you.  I am in great trouble.”

So the Lizard drew near, wagging her head wisely, for it pleased her to be consulted by the big Crocodile.  “What can it be, dear friend, that is troubling you this day?” she said amiably.  “Surely, no one would be so rude or rash as to offend the King of Congo River.  But tell me your trouble and perhaps I can advise you.”