Before Bevis could ask any questions, the squirrel went off to speak to the rook, and to show him a good bough to perch on near the owl’s castle.  He then came back and conducted Bevis to the seat in the ash-stole, where he was hidden by the honeysuckle, but could see well about him.  Hardly had Bevis comfortably seated himself than the councillors began to arrive.  They were all there; even the rat did not dare stay away, lest his loyalty should be suspected, but took up his station at the foot of the pollard-tree, and the mouse sat beside him.  The rook sat on the oak, no great way from the squirrel; Kauc, the crow, chose a branch of ash which projected close to the pollard.  So envious was he of the crown that he could not stay far from it.

Cloctaw, the jackdaw, who had flown to the council with him, upon arrival, left his side, and perched rather in the rear.  Reynard, the fox, and Sec, the stoat, his friend, waited the approach of the king by some fern near the foot of the pollard.  The owl every now and then appeared at the window of his castle, sometimes to see who had arrived, and sometimes to look for the king, who was not yet in sight.  Having glanced round, the owl retreated to his study, doubtless to prepare his speech for this important occasion.  The heaving up of the leaves and earth, as if an underground plough was at work, showed that the mole had not forgotten his duty; he had come to show his loyalty, and he brought a message from the badger, who had long since been left outside the concert of the animals and birds, humbly begging King Kapchack to accept his homage.

It is true that neither the hare nor the rabbit were present, but that signified nothing, for they had no influence whatever.  But the pheasant, who often stood aloof from the court, in his pride of lineage despising Kapchack though he was king, came on this occasion, for he too, like the squirrel, was alarmed at the progress of Choo Hoo, and dreaded a scarcity of the berries of the earth.  Tchink, the chaffinch, one of the first to come, could not perch still, but restlessly passed round the circle, now talking to one and now to another, and sometimes peering in at the owl’s window.  But merry as he was, he turned his back upon Te-te, the tomtit, and chief of the spies, disdaining the acquaintance of a common informer.  Te-te, not one whit abashed, sat on a willow, and lifted his voice from time to time.

The jay came presently, and for some reason or other he was in high good spirits, and dressed in his gayest feathers.  He chaffed the owl, and joked with Tchink; then he laughed to himself, and tried to upset the grave old Cloctaw from his seat, and, in short, played all sorts of pranks to the astonishment of everybody, who had hitherto seen him in such distress for the loss of his lady-love.  Everybody thought he had lost his senses.  Eric, the favourite missel-thrush (not the conspirator), took his station very high up on the ash above Kauc, whom he hated and suspected of treason, not hesitating even to say so aloud.  Kauc, indeed, was not now quite comfortable in his position, but kept slyly glancing up at the missel-thrush, and would have gone elsewhere had it not been that everybody was looking.

The wood-pigeon came to the hawthorn, some little way from the castle; he represented, and was the chief of those pigeons who dwelt peacefully in Kapchack’s kingdom, although aliens by race.  His position was difficult in the extreme, for upon the one hand he knew full well that Kapchack was suspicious of him lest he should go over to Choo Hoo, and might at any moment order his destruction, and upon the other hand he had several messages from Choo Hoo calling upon him to join his brethren, the invaders, on pain of severe punishment.  Uncertain as to his fate, the wood-pigeon perched on the hawthorn at the skirt of the council place, hoping from thence to get some start if obliged to flee for his life.  The dove, his friend, constant in misfortune, sat near him to keep him in countenance.

The humble-bee, the bee, the butterfly, the cricket, the grasshopper, the beetle, and many others arrived as the hour drew on.  Last of all came Ki Ki, lord of all the hawks, attended with his retinue, and heralding the approach of the king.  Ki Ki perched on a tree at the side of the pollard, and his warriors ranged themselves around him:  a terrible show, at which the mouse verily shrank into the ground.  Immediately afterwards a noise of wings and talking announced the arrival of Kapchack, who came in full state, with eight of his finest guards.  The king perched on the top of the pollard, just over the owl’s window, and the eight magpies sat above and around, but always behind him.

“What an ugly old fellow he is!” whispered Bevis, who had never before seen him.  “Look at his ragged tail!”

“Hush!” said the squirrel, “Te-te is too near.”

“Are they all here?” asked the king, after he had looked round and received the bows and lowly obeisance of his subjects.

“They are all here,” said the owl, sitting in his porch.  “They are all here — at least, I think; no, they are not, your majesty.”

“Who is absent?” said Kapchack, frowning, and all the assembly cowered.

“It is the weasel,” said the owl.  “The weasel is not here.”

Kapchack frowned and looked as black as thunder, and a dead silence fell upon the council.

“If it please your majesty,” said the humble-bee, presently coming to the front.  “If it please your majesty, the weasel — ”

“It does not please me,” said Kapchack.

But the humble-bee began again:  “If it please your majesty — ”

“His majesty is not pleased,” repeated the owl, severely.

But the humble-bee, who could sing but one tune, began again:  “If it please your majesty, the weasel asked me to say — ”

“What?” said the king, in a terrible rage.  “What did he say?”

“If it please your majesty,” said the humble-bee, who must begin over again every time he was interrupted, “the weasel asked me to say that he sent his humble, his most humble, loyal, and devoted obedience, and begged that you would forgive his absence from the council, as he has just met with a severe accident in the hunting-field, and cannot put one paw before the other.”

“I do not believe it,” said King Kapchack.  “Where is he?”

“If it please your majesty,” said the humble-bee, “he is lying on a bank beyond the copse, stretched out in the sunshine, licking his paw, and hoping that rest and sunshine will cure him.”

“Oh, what a story!” said Bevis.

“Hush,” said the squirrel.

“Somebody said it was a story,” said the owl.

“So it is,” said Te-te.  “I have made it my business to search out the goings-on of the weasel, who has kept himself in the background of late, suspecting that he was up to no good, and with the aid of my lieutenant, the tree-climber, I have succeeded in discovering his retreat, which he has concealed even from your majesty.”

“Where is it?” said Kapchack.

“It is in the elm, just there,” said Te-te, “just by those raspberries.”

“The rascal,” said the owl, in a great fright.  “Then he has been close by all the time listening.”

“Yes, he has been listening,” said Te-te, meaningly.

The owl became pale, remembering the secret meeting of the birds, and what was said there, all of which the treacherous weasel must have overheard.  He passed it off by exclaiming:  “This is really intolerable”.

“It is intolerable,” said Kapchack; “and you,” addressing the humble-bee, “wretch that you are to bring me a false message — ”

“If it please your majesty,” began the humble-bee, but he was seized upon by the bee (who was always jealous of him), and the butterfly, and the beetle, and hustled away from the precinct of the council.

“Bring the weasel here, this instant,” shouted Kapchack.  “Drag him here by the ears.”

Everybody stood up, but everybody hesitated, for though they all hated the weasel they all feared him.  Ki Ki, the hawk, bold as he was, could not do much in the bushes, nor enter a hole; Kauc, the crow, was in the like fix, and he intended if he was called upon to take refuge in the pretence of his age; the stoat, fierce as he was, shrank from facing the weasel, being afraid of his relation’s tricks and stratagems.  Even the fox, though he was the biggest of all, hesitated, for he recollected once when Pan, the spaniel, snapped at the weasel, the weasel made his teeth meet in Pan’s nostrils.

Thus they all hesitated, when the rat suddenly stood out and said:  “I will fetch the weasel, your majesty; I will bring that hateful traitor to your feet”.

“Do so, good and loyal rat,” said the king, well pleased.  And the rat ran off to compel the weasel to come.

As the elm was so close, they all looked that way, expecting to hear sounds of fighting; but in less than half-a-minute the rat appeared, with the weasel limping on three legs in his rear.  For when the weasel heard what the rat said, he knew it was of no use to stay away any longer; but in his heart he vowed that he would, sooner or later, make the rat smart for his officious interference.

When he came near, the weasel fell down and bowed himself before the king, who said nothing, but eyed him scornfully.

“I am guilty,” said the weasel, in a very humble voice; “I am guilty of disobedience to your majesty’s commands, and I am guilty of sending you a deceitful message, for which my poor friend the humble-bee has been cruelly hustled from your presence; but I am not guilty of the treason of which I am accused.  I hid in the elm, your majesty, because I went in terror of my life, and I feigned to be ill, in order to stay away from the council, because there is not one of all these (he pointed to the circle of councillors) who has not sworn to destroy me, and I feared to venture forth.  They have all banded together to compass my destruction, because I alone of all of them have remained faithful to your throne, and have not secretly conspired.”

At these words, there was such an outcry on the part of all the birds and animals, that the wood echoed with their cries; for the stoat snapped his teeth, and the fox snarled, and the jay screamed, and the hawk napped his wings, and the crow said “Caw!” and the rook “Haw!” and all so eagerly denied the imputation, that it was some minutes before even King Kapchack could make himself heard.

When the noise in some degree subsided, however, he said:  “Weasel, you are so false of tongue, and you have so many shifts and contrivances (’That he has!’ said Bevis, who was delighted at the downfall of the weasel), that it is no longer possible for any of us to believe anything you say.  We have now such important business before us, that we cannot stop to proceed to your trial and execution, and we therefore order that in the meantime you remain where you are, and that you maintain complete silence — for you are degraded from your rank — until such time as we can attend to your contemptible body, which will shortly dangle from a tree, as a warning to traitors for all time to come.  My lords, we will now proceed with our business, and, first of all, the secretary will read the roll-call of our forces.”

The owl then read the list of the army, and said:  “First, your majesty’s devoted body-guard, with — with Prince Tchack-tchack (the king frowned, and the jay laughed outright) at their head; Ki Ki, lord of hawks, one thousand beaks; the rooks, five thousand beaks; Kauc, the crow, two hundred beaks;” and so on, enumerating the numbers which all the tribes could bring to battle.

In the buzz of conversation that arose while the owl was reading (as it usually does), the squirrel told Bevis that he believed the crow had not returned the number of his warriors correctly, but that there were really many more, whom he purposely kept in the background.  As for Prince Tchack-tchack, his absence from the council evidently disturbed his majesty, though he was too proud to show how he felt the defection of his eldest son and heir.

The number of the rooks, too, was not accurate, and did not give a true idea of their power, for it was the original estimate furnished many years ago, when Kapchack first organised his army, and although the rooks had greatly increased since then, the same return was always made.  But it was well understood that the nation of the rooks could send, and doubtless would send, quite ten thousand beaks into the field.

“It is not a little curious,” said the squirrel, “that the rooks, who, as you know, belong to a limited monarchy — so limited that they have no real king — should form the main support of so despotic a monarch as Kapchack, who obtains even more decisive assistance from them than from the ferocious and wily Ki Ki.  It is an illustration of the singular complexity and paradoxical positions of politics that those who are naturally so opposed, should thus form the closest friends and allies.  I do not understand why it is so myself, for as you know, dear, I do not attempt to meddle with politics, but the owl has several times very learnedly discoursed to me upon this subject, and I gather from him that one principal reason why the rooks support the tyrant Kapchack, is because they well know if he is not king some one else will be.  Now Kapchack, in return for their valuable services, has, for one thing, ordered Ki Ki on no account to interfere with them (which is the reason they have become so populous), and under the nominal rule of Kapchack they really enjoy greater liberty than they otherwise could.

“But the beginning of the alliance, it seems, was in this way.  Many years ago, when Kapchack was a young monarch, and by no means firmly established upon his throne, he sought about for some means of gaining the assistance of the rooks.  He observed that in the spring, when the rooks repaired their dwellings, they did so in a very inferior manner, doing indeed just as their forefathers had done before them, and repeating the traditional architecture handed down through innumerable generations.  So ill-constructed were their buildings, that if, as often chanced, the March winds blew with fury, it was a common thing to see the grass strewn with the wreck of their houses.  Now Kapchack and all his race are excellent architects, and it occurred to him to do the rooks a service, by instructing them how to bind their lower courses, so that they should withstand the wind.

“With some difficulty, for the older rooks, though they would loudly deny it, are eminently conservative (a thing I do not profess to understand), he succeeded in persuading the younger builders to adopt his design; and the result was that in the end they all took to it, and now it is quite the exception to hear of an accident.  Besides the preservation of life, Kapchack’s invention also saved them an immense amount in timber for rebuilding.  The consequence has been that the rooks have flourished above all other birds.  They at once concluded an alliance with Kapchack, and as they increased in numbers, so they became more firmly attached to his throne.

“It is not that they feel any gratitude — far from it, they are a selfish race — but they are very keen after their own interest, which is, perhaps, the strongest tie.  For, as I observed, the rooks live under a limited monarchy; they had real kings of their own centuries since, but now their own king is only a name, a state fiction.  Every single rook has a voice in the affairs of the nation (hence the tremendous clamour you may hear in their woods towards sunset when their assemblies are held), but the practical direction of their policy is entrusted to a circle or council of about ten of the older rooks, distinguished for their oratorical powers.  These depute, again, one of their own number to Kapchack’s court; you see him yonder, his name is Kauhaha.  The council considers, I have no doubt, that by supporting Kapchack they retain their supremacy, for very likely if they did not have a foreigner to reign over them, some clever genius of their own race would arise and overturn these mighty talkers.

“On the other hand Kapchack fully appreciates their services, and if he dared he would give the chief command of his forces to the generalissimo of the rooks — not the one who sits yonder — the commander’s name is Ah Kurroo.  But he dreads the jealousy of Ki Ki, who is extremely off-handed and high in his ways, and might go off with his contingent.  I am curious to see who will have the command.  As for the starlings, I daresay you will notice their absence; they are under the jurisdiction of the rooks, and loyal as their masters; the reason they are not here is because they are already mobilised and have taken the field; they were despatched in all haste very early this morning, before you were awake, Bevis dear, to occupy the slope from whence the peewits fled.  Now they are discussing the doubtful allies.”

“The larks,” the owl was saying as the squirrel finished, “have sent a message which I consider extremely impertinent.  They have dared to say that they have nothing whatever to do with the approaching contest, and decline to join either party.  They say that from time immemorial they have been free mountaineers, owing allegiance to no one, and if they have attended your court it has been from courtesy, and not from any necessity that they were under.”

“They are despicable creatures,” said the king, who was secretly annoyed, but would not show it.  “Ki Ki, I deliver them over to you; let your men plunder them as they like.”

“The finches,” went on the owl.  “I hardly know — ”

“We are loyal to the last feather,” said Tchink, the chaffinch, bold as brass, and coming to the front, to save his friends from the fate of the larks.  “Your majesty, we are perfectly loyal — why, our troops, whom you know are only lightly armed, have already gone forward, and have occupied the furze on the summits of the hills.”

“I am much pleased,” said the king, who had been a little doubtful.  “Tell your friends to continue in that spirit.”

“With all my heart,” said Tchink, laughing in Ki Ki’s face; he actually flew close by the terrible hawk, and made a face at him, for he knew that he was disappointed, having hoped for permission to tear and rend the finches as the larks.

“The thrushes,” began the owl again.

“Pooh,” said the king, “they are feeble things; we can easily keep the whole nation of them in subjection by knocking out some of their brains now and then, can’t we, Ki Ki?”

“It is a capital way,” said Ki Ki.  “There is no better.”

“They are fit for nothing but ambassadors and couriers,” said Kapchack.  “We will not waste any more time over such folk whose opinions are nothing to us.  Now I call upon you all to express your views as to the best means of conducting the campaign, and what measures had better be taken for the defence of our dominions.  Ki Ki, speak first.”

“I am for immediate action,” said Ki Ki.  “Let us advance and attack at once, for every day swells the ranks of Choo Hoo’s army, and should there be early frosts it would be so largely increased that the mere numbers must push us back.  Besides which in a short time he will receive large reinforcements, for his allies, the fieldfares and redwings, are preparing to set sail across the sea hither.  But now, before his host becomes irresistible, is our opportunity; I counsel instant attack.  War to the beak is my motto!”

“War to the beak,” said the crow.

“War to the beak,” said the jay, carefully adjusting his brightest feathers, “and our ladies will view our deeds.”

“I agree,” said the rook, “with what Ki Ki says.”  The rook was not so noisy and impetuous as the hawk, but he was even more warlike, and by far the better statesman.  “I think,” Kauhaha went on, “that we should not delay one hour, but advance and occupy the plain where Choo Hoo is already diminishing our supplies of food.  If our supplies are consumed or cut off our condition will become critical.”

“Hear, hear,” said everybody except the crow, who hated the rook.  “Hear! hear! the rook speaks well.”

“All are then for immediately advancing?” said Kapchack, much pleased.

“May it please your majesty,” said the fox, thus humbling himself, he who was the descendant of kings, “may it please your majesty, I am not certain that the proposed course is the wisest.  For, if I may be permitted to say so, it appears to me that the facts are exactly opposite to what Ki Ki and the rook have put forward as the reason for battle.  My experience convinces me that the very vastness of Choo Hoo’s host is really its weakness.  The larger his numbers the less he can effect.  It is clear that they must soon, if they continue to draw together in these enormous bodies, destroy all the forage of the country, and unless they are prepared to die of starvation they must perforce retire.

“If, therefore, your majesty could be prevailed upon to listen to my counsels, I would the rather suggest, most humbly suggest, that the defensive is your best course.  Here in the copse you have an enclosure capable with a little trouble of being converted into an impregnable fortress.  Already the ditches are deep, the curtain wall of hawthorn high and impenetrable, the approaches narrow.  By retiring hither with your forces, occupying every twig, and opposing a beak in every direction, you would be absolutely safe, and it is easy to foresee what would happen.

“Choo Hoo, boastful and vainglorious, would approach with his enormous horde; he would taunt us, no doubt, with his absurd ‘Koos-takke,’ which I verily believe has no meaning at all, and of which we need take no heed.  In a few days, having exhausted the supplies, he would have to retire, and then sallying forth we could fall upon his rear and utterly destroy his unwieldy army.”

This advice made some impression upon Kapchack, notwithstanding that he was much prejudiced against the fox, for it was evidently founded upon facts, and the fox was known to have had great experience.  Kapchack appeared thoughtful, and leaning his head upon one side was silent, when Kauc, the crow (who had his own reasons for wishing Kapchack to run as much risk as possible), cried out that the fox was a coward, and wanted to sneak into a hole.  Ki Ki shouted applaudingly; the rook said he for one could not shut himself up while the country was ravaged; and the jay said the ladies would despise them.  Kapchack remembered that the fox had always had a character for duplicity, and perhaps had some secret motive for his advice, and just then, in the midst of the uproar, a starling flew into the circle with part of his tail gone and his feathers greatly ruffled.

It was evident that he had brought news from the seat of war, and they all crowded about him.  So soon as he had recovered breath the starling told them that half-an-hour since Choo Hoo had himself crossed the border, and driving in the outposts of the starlings, despite the most desperate resistance, had passed the front line of the hills.  At this news the uproar was tremendous, and for some time not a word could be heard.  By-and-by the owl obtained something like order, when the rook said he for one could not stay in council any longer, he must proceed to assemble the forces of his nation, as while they were talking his city might be seized.  Ki Ki, too, flapping his wings, announced his intention of attacking; the jay uttered a sneer about one-eyed people not being able to see what was straight before them, and thus goaded on against his better judgment, Kapchack declared his intention of sending his army to the front.

He then proceeded to distribute the commands.  Ki Ki was proclaimed commander-in-chief (the rook did not like this, but he said nothing, as he knew Kapchack could not help himself), and the rooks had the right wing, the crow the left wing (the crow was surprised at this, for his usual post was to guard the rear, but he guessed at once that Kapchack suspected him, and would not leave him near the palace), and the owl had the reserve.  As they received their orders, each flew off; even the owl, though it was daylight, started forth to summon his men, and though he blundered against the branches, did not stay a second on that account.  The squirrel had charge of the stores, and jumped down to see after them.  Not one was forgotten, but each had an office assigned, and went to execute it, all except the fox and the weasel.  The weasel, obedient to orders, lay still at the foot of the pollard, humbly hiding his head.

The fox, presently finding that he had been overlooked, crept under Kapchack, and, bowing to the earth, asked if there was no command and no employment for him.

“Begone,” said Kapchack, who was not going to entrust power to one of royal descent.  “Begone, sir; you have not shown any ability lately.”

“But did not the gnat tell you?” began the fox, humbly.

“The gnat told me a great deal,” said Kapchack.

“But did he not say I sent him?”

“No, indeed,” said Kapchack, for the gnat, not to be outdone, had indeed delivered the fox’s message, but had taken the credit of it for himself.  “Begone, sir (the fox slunk away); and do you (to his guards) go to the firs and wait for me there.”  The eight magpies immediately departed, and there was no one left but the weasel.

The king looked down at the guilty traitor; the traitor hung his head.  Presently the king said:  “Weasel, false and double-tongued weasel, did I not choose you to be my chiefest and most secret counsellor?  Did you not know everything?  Did I not consult you on every occasion, and were you not promoted to high honour and dignity?  And you have repaid me by plotting against my throne, and against my life; the gnat has told me everything, and it is of no avail for you to deny it.  You double traitor, false to me and false to those other traitors who met in this very place to conspire against me.  It is true you were not among them in person, but why were you not among them?  Do you suppose that I am to be deceived for a moment?  Wretch that you are.  You set them on to plot against me while you kept out of it with clean paws, that you might seize the throne so soon as I was slain.  Wretch that you are.”

Here the weasel could not endure it any longer, but crawling to the foot of the tree, besought the king with tears in his eyes to do what he would — to order him to instant execution, but not to reproach him with these enormities, which cut him to the very soul.  But the more he pleaded, the more angry Kapchack became, and heaped such epithets upon the crouching wretch, and so bitterly upbraided him that at last the weasel could bear it no more, but driven as it were into a corner, turned to bay, and faced the enraged monarch.

He sat up, and looking Kapchack straight in the face, as none but so hardened a reprobate could have done, he said, in a low but very distinct voice:  “You have no right to say these things to me, any more than you have to wear the crown!  I do not believe you are Kapchack at all — you are an impostor!”

At these words Kapchack became as pale as death, and could not keep his perch upon the pollard, but fluttered down to the ground beside the weasel.  He was so overcome that for a moment or two he could not speak.  When he found breath, he turned to the weasel and asked him what he meant.  The weasel, who had now regained his spirits, said boldly enough that he meant what he said; he did not believe that the king was really Kapchack.

“But I am Kapchack,” said the king, trembling, and not knowing how much the weasel knew.

In truth the weasel knew very little, but had only shot a bolt at random from the bow of his suspicions, but he had still a sharper shaft to shoot, and he said:  “You are an impostor, for you told La Schach, who has jilted you, that you were not so old as you looked.”

“The false creature!” said Kapchack, quite beside himself with rage.  In his jealousy of Prince Tchack-tchack, who was so much younger, and had two eyes, he had said this, and now he bitterly repented his vanity.  “The false creature!” he screamed, “where is she?  I will have her torn to pieces!  She shall be pecked limb from limb!  Where is she?” he shrieked.  “She left the palace yesterday evening, and I have not seen her since.”

“She went to the firs with the jay,” said the weasel.  “He is her old lover, you know.  Did you not see how merry he was just now, at the council?”

Then Kapchack pecked up the ground with his beak, and tore at it with his claws, and gave way to his impotent anger.

“There shall not be a feather of her left!” he said.  “I will have her utterly destroyed!  She shall be nailed to a tree!”

“Nothing of the kind,” said the weasel, with a sneer.  “She is too beautiful.  As soon as you see her, you will kiss her and forgive her.”

“It is true,” said Kapchack, becoming calmer.  “She is so beautiful, she must be forgiven.  Weasel, in consideration of important services rendered to the state in former days, upon this one occasion you shall be pardoned.  Of course the condition is that what has passed between us this day is kept strictly private, and that you do not breathe a word of it.”

“Not a word of it,” said the weasel.

“And you must disabuse your mind of that extraordinary illusion as to my identity of which you spoke just now.  You must dismiss so absurd an idea from your mind.”

“Certainly,” said the weasel, “it is dismissed entirely.  But, your majesty, with your permission, I would go further.  I would endeavour to explain to you, that although my conduct was indiscreet, and so far open to misconstruction, there was really nothing more in it than an ill-directed zeal in your service.  It is really true, your majesty, that all the birds and animals are leagued against me, and that is why I have been afraid to stir abroad.  I was invited to the secret council, of which you have heard from the gnat, and because I did not attend it, they have one and all agreed to vilify me to your majesty.

“But in fact I, for once, with the service of your majesty in view, descended (repugnant as it was to my feelings) to play the eavesdropper, and I overheard all that was said, and I can convince your majesty that there are far greater traitors in your dominions than you ever supposed me to be.  The gnat does not know half that took place at the council, for he only had it second-hand from that villain, the fox, who is, I believe, secretly bent on your destruction.  But I can tell you not only all that went on — I can also relate to you the designs of Kauc, the crow, who conferred with Cloctaw in private, after the meeting was over.  And I can also give you good reasons for suspecting Ki Ki, the hawk, whom you have just nominated to the command of your forces, of the intention of making a bargain with Choo Hoo, and of handing you over to him a prisoner.”

Now this last was a pure invention of the weasel’s out of envy, since Ki Ki had obtained such distinction.  Kapchack, much alarmed at these words, ordered him to relate everything in order, and the weasel told him all that had been said at the council, all that Kauc, the crow, had said to Cloctaw, and a hundred other matters which he made up himself.  When Kapchack heard these things he was quite confounded, and exclaimed that he was surrounded with traitors, and that he did not see which way to turn.  He hopped a little way off, in order the better to consider by himself, and leant his head upon one side.

First he thought to himself:  “I must take the command from Ki Ki, but I cannot do that suddenly, lest he should go over to Choo Hoo.  I will therefore do it gradually.  I will countermand the order for an immediate attack; that will give me time to arrange.  Who is to take Ki Ki’s place?  Clearly the weasel, for though he is an archtraitor, yet he is in the same boat with me; for I know it to be perfectly true that all of them are bitter against him.”

So he went back to the weasel, and told him that he should give him the chief command of the forces, on the third day following, and meantime told him to come early in the evening to the drain which passed under the orchard, where his palace was, so that he could concert the details of this great state business in secret with him.

The weasel, beyond measure delighted at the turn things had taken, and rejoicing extremely at the impending fall of Ki Ki, whom he hated, thanked Kapchack with all his might, till Kapchack, enjoining on him the necessity of secrecy, said “Good-afternoon”; and flew away towards the firs, where his guard was waiting for him.  Then the weasel, puffed up and treading the ground proudly, went back to his cave in the elm, and Bevis, seeing that there was nothing more going on that day, stole back to the raspberry canes.

None of them had noticed, not even the cunning weasel, that the mole, when the council broke up, had not left with the rest:  indeed, being under the surface of the earth, they easily overlooked him.  Now the mole, who hated the weasel beyond all, had waited to have the pleasure of hearing King Kapchack upbraid the traitor, and presently consign him to execution.  Fancy then his feelings when, after all, the weasel was received into the highest favour, and promised the supreme command of the army, while he himself was not even noticed, though he was a clever engineer, and could mine and countermine, and carry on siege operations better than any of them.

He listened to all that was said attentively, and then, so soon as Kapchack had flown away, and the weasel had gone to his hole, and Bevis to the raspberries, he drove a tunnel to the edge of the copse, and there calling a fly, sent him with a message to the hawk, asking Ki Ki to meet him beside the leaning stone in the field (which Bevis had once passed), because he had a secret to communicate which would brook no delay.  At the same time, as Kapchack was flying to the firs where his guards were waiting, it occurred to him that, although he had no alternative, it was dangerous in the extreme to trust the army to the weasel, who, perhaps, just as there was an opportunity of victory, would retire, and leave him to be destroyed.  Thinking about this, he perched on a low hawthorn bush, and asked himself whether it was worth while to attempt to defend a kingdom held under such precarious tenure.  Would it not be better to make terms with Choo Hoo, who was not unreasonable, and to divide the territory, and thus reign in peace and safety over half at least, — making it, of course, a condition of the compact that Choo Hoo should help him to put down all domestic traitors?

The idea seemed so good that, first glancing round to see that he was not observed, he called a thrush, who had been coming to the hawthorn, but dared not enter it while the king was there.  The thrush, much frightened, came as he was bid, and Kapchack carefully instructed him in what he was to do.  Having learnt his message by heart, the thrush, delighted beyond expression at so high a negotiation being entrusted to him, flew straight away towards Choo Hoo’s camp.  But not unobserved; for just then Ki Ki, wheeling in the air at an immense height, whither he had gone to survey the scene of war, chanced to look down and saw him quit the king, and marked the course he took.  Kapchack, unaware that Ki Ki had detected this manoeuvre, now returned to his guards, and flew to his palace.

Meantime the weasel, curled up on his divan in the elm, was thinking over the extraordinary good fortune that had befallen him.  Yet such was his sagacity that even when thus about to attain almost the topmost pinnacle of his ambition, he did not forget the instability of affairs, but sought to confirm his position, or even to advance it.  He reflected that Kapchack was not only cunning beyond everything ever known, but he was just now a prey to anxieties, and consumed with jealousy, which upset the tenor of his mind, so that his course could not be depended upon, but might be changed in a moment.  The favour of a despotic monarch was never a firm staff to lean upon; when that monarch was on the brink of a crisis which threatened both his throne and his life, his smile might become a frown before any one was aware that a change was impending.

Impressed with these ideas, the weasel asked himself how he could at once secure his position and advance himself to further dignity.  He considered that up to the present the forces of Kapchack had always been compelled to retreat before the overwhelming masses thrown against them by Choo Hoo.  He could scarcely hope under the most favourable circumstances to do more than defend the frontier, and should Choo Hoo win the battle, Kapchack would either be taken prisoner, or, what was not at all unlikely, fall a victim during the confusion, and be assassinated, perhaps, by the villainous crow.  Where, then, would be his own high command?  But by making terms with Choo Hoo he might himself obtain the throne, and reign perfectly secure as Choo Hoo’s regent.

On coming to this conclusion, he called to his old friend the humble-bee, and said he desired to send a message to Choo Hoo, the purport of which must not be divulged to any flower upon the route.  The humble-bee instantly guessed that this message must be something to the injury of Kapchack, and resenting the manner in which he had been hustled from the council, declared that he would carry it without a moment’s delay.

“Go then, my friend,” said the weasel.  “Go straight to Choo Hoo, and say:  ’The weasel is appointed to the command of King Kapchack’s army, and will supersede Ki Ki, the hawk, upon the third day.  On that day he will lead forth the army to the south, professing to go upon a flank march, and to take you in the rear.  Be not deceived by this movement, but so soon as you see that the guards are withdrawn from the frontier, cross the border in force, and proceed straight towards the palace.  When Kapchack’s army finds you between it and its base of supplies it will disperse, and you will obtain an easy victory.

“’And in proof of his good-will towards you, the weasel, furthermore, bade me inform you of the great secret which has hitherto been preserved with such care, and which will enable your army to remain in this place all the winter.  In the squirrel’s copse there is a spring, which is never frozen, but always affords excellent drinking water, and moistens a considerable extent of ground.’” This was the weasel’s message, and without a moment’s delay the humble-bee buzzed away direct to Choo Hoo’s camp.

At the same time the fly with the mole’s message reached Ki Ki, the hawk, as he was soaring among the clouds.  Ki Ki, having finished his observations, and full of suspicions as to the object with which the king had despatched the thrush to Choo Hoo, decided to keep the mole’s appointment at once, so down he flew direct to the leaning stone in the meadow, where Bevis had gathered the cowslips, and found the mole already waiting for him.

Now, the mole hated Ki Ki exceedingly, because, as previously related, he had killed his wife, but he hated the weasel, who had persecuted him all his life, even more, and by thus betraying the weasel to the hawk he hoped to set the two traitors by the ears, and to gratify his own vengeance by seeing them tear each other to pieces.  Accordingly he now informed Ki Ki of everything — how the weasel had disclosed the names of all those who attended the secret meeting (except one, i.e., the owl, which, for reasons of his own, the weasel had suppressed), particularly stating that Ki Ki had taken a foremost part, that Kapchack was enraged against the hawk, and had already promised the weasel the chief command, so that in three days Ki Ki would be superseded.

Ki Ki, suppressing his agitation, thanked the mole very cordially for his trouble, and soared towards the sky, but he had scarce gone a hundred yards before one of Kapchack’s body-guard met him with a message from the king countermanding the advance of the army which had been decided upon.  Ki Ki replied that his majesty’s orders should be implicitly obeyed and continued his upward flight.  He had now no doubt that what the mole had told him was correct in every particular, since it had been so immediately confirmed; and as for the thrush, it seemed clear that Kapchack had some design of saving himself by the sacrifice of his friends.  That must be his reasons for countermanding the advance — to give time for negotiation.  Angry beyond measure, Ki Ki flew to his own clump of trees, and calling to him a keen young hawk — one of his guard, and who was only too delighted to be selected for confidential employment — sent him with a flag of truce to Choo Hoo.

He was to say that Ki Ki, being disgusted with the treachery of King Kapchack, had determined to abandon his cause, and that on the day of battle, in the midst of the confusion, if Choo Hoo would push forward rapidly, Ki Ki would draw off his contingent and expose the centre, when Kapchack must inevitably be destroyed.  Away flew the hawk, and thus in one hour Choo Hoo received three messengers.