[1] From The singing Leaves, by Josephine Preston Peabody (Houghton, Mifflin and Co.).

 I like to lie and wait to see
   My mother braid her hair. 
 It is as long as it can be,
   And yet she doesn’t care. 
 I love my mother’s hair.

 And then the way her fingers go;
   They look so quick and white,—­
 In and out, and to and fro,
   And braiding in the light,
 And it is always right.

 So then she winds it, shiny brown,
 Around her head into a crown,
   Just like the day before. 
 And then she looks and pats it down,
   And looks a minute more;
 While I stay here all still and cool. 
 Oh, isn’t morning beautiful?

THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER, AND THE JACKAL

Do you know what a Brahmin is?  A Brahmin is a very good and gentle kind of man who lives in India, and who treats all the beasts as if they were his brothers.  There is a great deal more to know about Brahmins, but that is enough for the story.

One day a Brahmin was walking along a country road when he came upon a Tiger, shut up in a strong iron cage.  The villagers had caught him and shut him up there for his wickedness.

“Oh, Brother Brahmin, Brother Brahmin,” said the Tiger, “please let me out, to get a little drink!  I am so thirsty, and there is no water here.”

“But Brother Tiger,” said the Brahmin, “you know if I should let you out, you would spring on me and eat me up.”

“Never, Brother Brahmin!” said the Tiger.  “Never in the world would I do such an ungrateful thing!  Just let me out a little minute, to get a little, little drink of water, Brother Brahmin!”

So the Brahmin unlocked the door and let the Tiger out.  The moment he was out he sprang on the Brahmin, and was about to eat him up.

“But, Brother Tiger,” said the Brahmin, “you promised you would not.  It is not fair or just that you should eat me, when I set you free.”

“It is perfectly right and just,” said the Tiger, “and I shall eat you up.”

However, the Brahmin argued so hard that at last the Tiger agreed to wait and ask the first five whom they should meet, whether it was fair for him to eat the Brahmin, and to abide by their decision.

The first thing they came to, to ask, was an old Banyan Tree, by the wayside.  (A banyan tree is a kind of fruit tree.)

“Brother Banyan,” said the Brahmin, eagerly, “does it seem to you right or just that this Tiger should eat me, when I set him free from his cage?”

The Banyan Tree looked down at them and spoke in a tired voice.

“In the summer,” he said, “when the sun is hot, men come and sit in the cool of my shade and refresh themselves with the fruit of my branches.  But when evening falls, and they are rested, they break my twigs and scatter my leaves, and stone my boughs for more fruit.  Men are an ungrateful race.  Let the Tiger eat the Brahmin.”