Once upon a time the king of the fishes was wanting in wisdom. His advisers told him that, once he could get the heart of a fox, he would become wise. So he sent a deputation consisting of the great magnates of the sea,—whales and others. "Our king wants your advice on some state affairs." The fox, flattered, consented. A whale took him on his back. On the way the waves beat upon him. At last he asked what they really wanted. They said what their king really wanted was to eat his heart, by which he hoped to become clever. He said, "Why didn't you tell me that before? I would gladly sacrifice my life for such a worthy object. But we foxes always leave our hearts at home. Take me back, and I'll fetch it. Otherwise I'm sure your king will be angry." So they took him back. As soon as he got near to the shore, he leaped on land, and cried, "Ah, you fools! Have you ever heard of an animal not carrying his heart with him?" and ran off. The fish had to return empty.

A reminiscence of this incident is also found in Steel-Temple, No. XXI, "The Jackal and the Partridge," where a partridge induces a crocodile to carry her and the jackal across a river, and en route suggests that he should upset the jackal, but at last dissuades him by saying that the jackal had left his life behind him on the other shore.

Related to our Zambal story are two modern Indian folk-tales in which a jackal is substituted for the monkey (this substitution is analogous to the Indian substitution of the jackal for the Philippines monkey in the "Puss-in-Boots" cycle). In the first of these—Frere, No. XXIV, "The Alligator and the Jackal"—we have the incident of the house answering when the owner calls. In Steel-Temple, No. XXXI, "The Jackal and the Crocodile," the jackal makes love to the crocodile, and induces her, under promise of marriage, to swim him across a stream to some fruit he wants to eat. When she has brought him back, he says that he thinks it may be a long time before he can make arrangements for the wedding. The crocodile, in revenge, watches till he comes to drink, and then seizes him by the leg. The jackal tells her that she has got hold of a root instead of his leg: so she lets go, and he escapes. Next she goes to his den to wait for him, and shams dead. When the jackal sees her, he says that the dead always wag their tails. The crocodile wags hers, and the jackal skips off. Closely connected with this last is a story by Rouse, No. 20, "The Cunning Jackal," only here the jackal's opponent is a turtle. The original, unadapted story runs thus as given in the notes by Mr. Rouse:—

Jackal sees melons on the other side of the river. Sees a tortoise. "How are you and your family?"—"I am well, but I have no wife."-"Why did you not tell me? Some people on the other side have asked me to find a match for their daughter."—"If you mean it, I will take you across." Takes him across on his back. When the melons are over (gone?), the jackal dresses up a jhan-tree as a bride. "There is your bride, but she is too modest to speak till I am gone." Tortoise carries him back. Calls to the stump. No answer,—Goes up and touches it. Finds it a tree. Vows revenge. As jackal drinks, catches his leg. "You fool! you have got hold of a stump by mistake; see, here is my leg!" pointing to stump. Tortoise leaves hold, Jackal escapes. Tortoise goes to jackal's den. Jackal returns, and sees the footprints leading into the den. Piles dry leaves at the mouth, and fires them. Tortoise expires.

Compare also a Borneo tale of a mouse-deer and a crocodile (Evans, 475). In a Santal story (Bompas, No. CXXIII, "The Jackal and the Leopards") a jackal tricks some leopards. In the second half he outwits a crocodile. Crocodile seizes jackal's leg. Jackal: "What a fool of a crocodile to seize a tree instead of my leg!" Crocodile lets go, and jackal escapes. Crocodile hides in a straw-stack to wait for jackal. Jackal comes along wearing a sheep-bell it has found. Crocodile says, "What a bother! Here comes a sheep, and I am waiting for the jackal." Jackal hears the exclamation, bums the straw-stack, and kills the crocodile.

The "Vanarinda-jataka," No. 57, contains what I believe is the original of the "house-answering owner" droll episode in our Pampangan variant. The monkey suspected the crocodile of lurking on the rock to catch him: so he shouted, "Hi, rock!" three times, but received no answer. Then he said, "How comes it, Friend Rock, that you won't answer me to-day?" The crocodile, thinking that perhaps it was the custom of the rock to return the greeting, answered for the rock; whereupon the monkey knew of his presence, and escaped by a trick. The "house-answering owner" episode is also found in a Zanzibar tale of "The Hare and the Lion" (Bateman, No. 2, pp. 42-43). The hare here suggests a Buddhistic source.

Of all the modern Oriental forms of the story, our Tagalog version and Pampangan variant are closest to the Jatakas, and we may conclude without hesitation that they mark a direct line of descent from India. The fact that the story is popular in many parts of the Islands makes it highly improbable that it was re-introduced to the Orient through a Spanish translation of the "Kalilah and Dimnah."

For further bibliography and discussion of this cycle, see Daehnhardt, 4 : 1-26.



TALE 57

THE MONKEYS AND THE DRAGON-FLIES.

Narrated by Pedro D. L. Sorreta, a Bicol from Albay, who says that the story is very common in the island of Catanduanes.

One day, when the sun was at the zenith and the air was very hot, a poor dragon-fly, fatigued with her long journey, alighted to rest on a branch of a tree in which a great many monkeys lived. While she was fanning herself with her wings, a monkey approached her, and said, "Aha! What are you doing here, wretched creature?"

"O sir! I wish you would permit me to rest on this branch while the sun is so hot," said the dragon-fly softly. "I have been flying all morning, and I am so hot and tired that I can go no farther," she added.

"Indeed!" exclaimed the monkey in a mocking tone. "We don't allow any weak creature such as you are to stay under our shelter. Go away!" he said angrily, and, taking a dry twig, he threw it at the poor creature.

The dragon-fly, being very quick, had flown away before the cruel monkey could hit her. She hurried to her brother the king, and told him what had happened. The king became very angry, and resolved to make war on the monkeys. So he despatched three of his soldiers to the king of the monkeys with this challenge:—

"The King of the Monkeys.

"Sir,—As one of your subjects has treated my sister cruelly, I am resolved to kill you and your subjects with all speed.

"DRAGON."

The monkey-king laughed at the challenge. He said to the messengers, "Let your king and his soldiers come to the battle-field, and they will see how well my troops fight."

"You don't mean what you say, cruel king," answered the messengers. "You should not judge before the fight is over."

"What fools, what fools!" exclaimed the king of the monkeys. "Go to your ruler and tell him my answer," and he drove the poor little creatures away.

When the king of the dragon-flies received the reply, he immediately ordered his soldiers to go to the battle-field, but without anything to fight with. Meanwhile the monkeys came, each armed with a heavy stick. Then the monkey-king shouted, "Strike the flying creatures with your clubs!" When King Dragon heard this order, he commanded his soldiers to alight on the foreheads of their enemies. Then the monkeys began to strike at the dragon-flies, which were on the foreheads of their companions. The dragon-flies were very quick, and were not hurt at all: but the monkeys were all killed. Thus the light, quick-witted dragon-flies won the victory over the strong but foolish monkeys.



Notes.

A Visayan variant, "The Ape and the Firefly" (JAFL 20 : 314) shows the firefly making use of the same ruse the dragon-flies employ to get the monkeys to slay one another. The first part of this variant is connected with our No. 60. The "killing fly on head" incident we have already met with in No. 9, in the notes to which I have pointed out Buddhistic parallels. It also occurs in No. 60 (d). In a German story (Grimm, No. 68, "The Dog and the Sparrow") the sparrow employs the same trick to bring ruin and death on a heartless wagoner who has cruelly run over the dog.

A closer analogue is the Celebes fable of "The Butterfly and the Ten Monkeys," given in Bezemer, p. 292.

Our story belongs to the large cycle of tales in which is represented a war between the winged creatures of the air and the four-footed beasts. In these stories, as Grimm says in his notes to No. 102, "The Willow-Wren and the Bear," "the leading idea is the cunning of the small creatures triumphing over the large ones .... The willow-wren is the ruler, for the saga accepts the least as king as readily as the greatest." For the bibliography of the cycle and related cycles, see Bolte-Polivka, 1 : 517-519, and 2 : 435-438, to which add the "Latukika-jataka," No. 357, which tells how a quail brought about the destruction of an elephant that had killed her young ones. I am inclined to think that the Bicol and Visayan stories belonging to this group are native—at least, have not been derived through the Spanish.

I have another Visayan story, however, relating a war between the land and the air creatures, which may possibly have come from the Occident. It was narrated by Jose R. Cuadra, and runs thus:—

The Battle between the Birds and the Beasts.

A great discussion once took place between the lion, king of the land-animals, and the bat, king of the air-animals, over the relative strength of each. The lion claimed to be more powerful than the bat, while the bat claimed to be more powerful than the lion. The final outcome was a declaration of war. The lion then called a general meeting of all his subjects. Among them were tigers, leopards, elephants, carabaos, wolves, and other fierce land-animals. The carabao was appointed leader of the army. Each animal in turn made a speech to the king, promising a sure victory for him. At the same time the bat also called a general meeting of his subjects. There were present all kinds of birds and insects. The leadership of the army was given to the bees and the wasps. Early in the morning the two opposing armies were assembled on the battle-field. At a given signal the battle began. The land-animals tried to chase the air-animals, but in vain, for they could not leave the ground. The bees and wasps were busy stinging the eyes and bodies of their enemy. At last the land-animals retired defeated, because they could not endure longer their severe punishment.



TALE 58

THE MONKEY, THE TURTLE, AND THE CROCODILE.

Narrated by Vicente Hilario, a Tagalog from Batangas. He heard the story from his father, who said that it is common among the country people around Batangas town.

There was once a monkey who used to deceive everybody whom he met. As is the case with most deceivers, he had many enemies who tried to kill him.

One day, while he was walking in the streets of his native town, he met in a by-lane a turtle and a crocodile. They were so tired that they could hardly breathe. "I'll try to deceive these slow creatures of the earth," said the monkey to himself. So said, so done. He approached the crocodile and turtle, and said to them, "My dear sirs, you are so tired that you can hardly move! Where did you come from?"

The two travellers were so much affected by the kind words of the monkey, that they told him all about themselves with the greatest candor imaginable. They said, "We are strangers who have just made a long journey from our native town. We don't know where to get food or where to spend this cold night."

"I'll conduct you to a place where you can spend the night and get all you want to eat," said the monkey.

"All right," said the two travellers. "Lead on! for we are very hungry and at the same time very tired."

"Follow me," said the crafty monkey.

The turtle and the crocodile followed the monkey, and soon he brought them to a field full of ripe pumpkins. "Eat all the pumpkins you want, and then rest here. Meanwhile I'll go home and take my sleep, too."

While the two hungry travellers were enjoying a hearty meal, the owner of the plantation happened to pass by. When he saw the crocodile, he called to his laborers, and told them to bring long poles and their bolos. The turtle clung to the tail of the crocodile, and away they went.

"Don't cling to my tail! Don't cling to my tail!" said the crocodile. "I cannot run fast if you cling to my tail. Let go! for the men will soon overtake us."

"I have to cling to your tail," said the turtle, "or else there will be no one to push you."

But their attempt to escape was unsuccessful. The men overtook them and killed them both. Such was the unhappy end of the turtle and the crocodile.

MORAL: Never trust a new friend or an old enemy.



Notes.

I know of no exact parallels for this story, though the character of the monkey as depicted here is similar to that in No. 55. Compare with it the role of the deceitful jackal in some of the South African stories (e.g., Metelerkamp, No. v; Honey, 22, 24, 45, 105, etc.). This may be a sort of "compensation story," manufactured long ago, however, in which the monkey gets even with his two traditional opponents, the crocodile and the turtle.



TALE 59

THE IGUANA AND THE TURTLE.

Narrated by Sixto Guico of Binalonan, Pangasinan, who says that the story is fairly common among the Pangasinanes.

Once upon a time there lived two good friends,—an iguana and a turtle. They always went fishing together. One day the turtle invited the iguana to go catch fish in a certain pond that he knew of. After they had been there about two hours, the old man who owned the pond came along. The iguana escaped, but the turtle was caught. The old man took the turtle home, tied a string around its neck, and fastened it under the house.

Early in the morning the iguana went to look for his friend the turtle. The iguana wandered everywhere looking for him, and finally he found him under the old man's house, tied to a post.

"What are you doing here, my friend?" said the iguana.

"That old man wants me to marry his daughter, but I do not want to marry her," said the turtle.

Now, the iguana very much wanted a wife, and he was delighted at this chance. So he asked the turtle to be allowed to take his place. The turtle consented. So the iguana released the turtle, and was tied up in his place. Then the turtle made off as fast as he could.

When the old man woke up, he heard some one saying over and over again, "I want to marry your daughter." He became angry, and went down under the house to see who was talking. There he found the iguana saying, "I want to marry your daughter." The old man picked up a big stick to beat its head, but the iguana cut the string and ran away.

On his way he came across the turtle again, who was listening to the sound produced by the rubbing of two bamboos when the wind blew. "What! are you here again?" said the iguana.

"Be quiet!" said the turtle. "I am listening to the pipe of my grandfather up there. Don't you hear it?"

The iguana wanted to see the turtle's grandfather, so he climbed up the tree, and put his mouth between the two bamboos that were rubbing together. His mouth was badly pinched, and he fell down to the ground. The turtle meanwhile had disappeared.

MORAL: This teaches that the one who believes foolishly will be injured.

Notes.

This story is doubtless native. A Tinguian tale related to ours is given by Cole (No. 78), whose abstract runs thus:—

A turtle and lizard go to stem ginger. The lizard talks so loudly that he attracts the attention of the owner. The turtle hides; but the lizard runs, and is pursued by the man. The turtle enters the house, and hides under a cocoanut-shell. When the man sits on the shell, the turtle calls. He cannot discover source of noise, and thinks it comes from his testicles. He strikes these with a stone, and dies. The turtle and the lizard see a bees' nest. The lizard hastens to get it, and is stung. They see a bird-snare, and turtle claims it as the necklace of his father. Lizard runs to get it, but is caught and killed.

Some of the incidents found in the Tinguian story we have met with in No. 55; e.g., episodes K, J, L, and "king's bell." Indeed, there appears to be a close connection between the "Monkey and Turtle" group and this story. A Borneo tale of the mouse-deer (plandok), small turtle (kikura), long-tailed monkey (kra), and bear contains the "king's necklace" incident, and many other situations worthy of notice. A brief summary of the droll, which may be found in Roth, 1 : 342-346, is here given:—

The Kikura deceives the Plandok with the necklace sell (snare), and the Plandok is caught. When the hunter comes up, the little animal feigns death, and is thrown away. Immediately it jumps up, and is off to revenge itself on the turtle. It entices the turtle into a covered pit by pretending to give it a good place to sleep. Man examining pitfall discovers turtle, and fastens it with a forked stick. Monkey comes along, exchanges places with the turtle, but escapes with his life by feigning dead, as did the Plandok. Monkey, turtle, and Plandok go fishing. Monkey steals ride across stream on back of good-natured fish, which he later treacherously kills. The three friends prepare the fish, and Bruin comes along. Fearing the size of the bear's appetite, they send him to wash the pan; and when he returns, fish, monkey, turtle, and mouse-deer have disappeared.

The escape of snared animals and birds by shamming dead, and then making off when the bunter or fowler throws them aside as worthless, is commonly met with in Buddhistic fables.



TALE 60

THE TRIAL AMONG THE ANIMALS.

Narrated by Domingo Pineda of Pampanga.

In ancient times Sinukuan, the judge of the animals, lived in one of the caves of Mount Arayat. He had formerly lived in a neighboring town; but, since he was so brave and strong, the people began to envy him, then to hate him. At last they made so many plots against his life, that he gave up all his property and friends in the town, and went to live in Mount Arayat, where he devoted all his time to gaining the friendship of the animals there.

Now, it was not hard for Sinukuan to win the love of the animals, for he had the power of changing himself into whatever form he pleased; and he always took the form of those animals who came to him. It was not long before all the animals realized the power, wisdom, and justice of their good companion, so they made him their judge.

One day a bird came to Sinukuan's court, and asked Sinukuan to punish the frog for being so noisy during the night, while it was trying to sleep. Sinukuan summoned the troublesome frog, and asked him the reason for his misbehavior. The frog answered respectfully, "Sir, I was only crying for help, because the turtle was carrying his house on his back, and I feared that I might be buried under it."

"That is good enough reason," said Sinukuan; "you are free."

The turtle was the next to be summoned to Sinukuan's court. On his arrival, he humbly replied to the question of the judge, "Honorable Judge, I carried my house with me, because the firefly was playing with fire, and I was afraid he might set fire to my home. Is it not right to protect one's house from fire?"

"A very good reason; you are free," said Sinukuan.

In the same way the firefly was brought to court the next day, and when the judge asked him why he was playing with fire, he said in a soft voice, "It was because I have no other means with which to protect myself from the sharp-pointed dagger of the mosquito." This seemed a reasonable answer, so the firefly was liberated too.

Finally the mosquito was tried; and, since he did not have any good reason to give for carrying his dagger, Sinukuan sentenced him to three days' imprisonment. The mosquito was obliged to submit; and it was during this confinement of the mosquito that he lost his voice. Ever since, the male mosquito has had no voice; and he has been afraid to carry his dagger, for fear of greater punishment.

The Pugu's Case.

Narrated by Bienvenido Tan of Manila, who got the story from Pampanga.

"Why, horse," said the pugu (a small bird), "did you touch my eggs, so that now they are broken?"

"Because," said the horse, "the cock crowed, and I was startled."

"Why, cock," said the pugu, "did you crow, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?"

"Because," said the cock, "I saw the turtle carrying his house; that made me crow."

"Why, turtle," said the pugu, "did you carry your house with you, so that the cock crowed, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?"

"Because," said the turtle, "the firefly was carrying fire, and I was afraid that he would burn my house."

"Why, firefly," said the pugu, "did you bring fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, and the cock crowed when he saw him, and the horse was startled and broke my eggs?"

"Because," said the firefly, "the mosquito will sting me if I have no light."

"Why, mosquito," said the pugu, "did you try to sting the firefly, so that he had to carry fire, so that the turtle was frightened and carried his house, so that the cock laughed at the turtle, so that the horse was startled and broke my eggs?"

"Because," said the mosquito, "Juan put up his mosquito-net, and there was nobody for me to sting except the firefly (alipatpat.)"

"Why, Juan," said the pugu, "did you put up your mosquito-net? The mosquito could not sting you, and tried to harm the firefly; the firefly brought fire; the turtle was frightened, and carried his house with him; the cock crowed when he saw the turtle; the horse was startled when he heard the cock, and broke my eggs."

"Because," said Juan, "I did not care to lose any blood."



Why Mosquitoes Hum and Try to get into the Holes of our Ears.

Narrated by Fermin Torralba, a Visayan from Tagbilaran, Bohol. He heard the story from an old man of his province.

A long time ago, when the world was much quieter and younger than it is now, people told and believed many strange stories about wonderful things which none of us have ever seen. In those very early times, in the province of Bohol, there lived a creature called Mangla; [101] he was king of the crabs.

One night, as he was very tired and sleepy, Mangla ordered his old sheriff, Cagang, [102] leader of the small land-crabs, to call his followers, Bataktak, [103] before him. Although the sheriff was old, yet he brought them all in in a very short time. Then Mangla said to the Bataktak, "You must all watch my house while I am sleeping; but do not make any noise that will waken me." The Bataktak said, "We are always ready to obey you." So Mangla went to sleep.

While he was snoring, it began to rain so hard that the guards could not help laughing. The king awoke very angry; but, as he was still very tired and sleepy, he did not immediately ask the Bataktak why they laughed. He waited till morning came. So, as soon as the sun shone, he called the Bataktak, and said to them, "Why did you laugh last night? Did I not tell you not to make any noise?"

The Bataktak answered softly, "We could not help laughing, because last night we saw our old friend Hu-man [104] carrying his house on his shoulder." On account of this reasonable reply, the king pardoned the Bataktak. Then he called his sheriff, and told him to summon Hu-man. In a short time he came. The king at once said to him, "What did you do last night?"

"Sir," replied Hu-man humbly, "I was carrying my house, because Aninipot [105] was bringing fire, and I was afraid that my only dwelling would be burned." This answer seemed reasonable to the king, so he pardoned Hu-man. Then he told his sheriff Cagang to summon Aninipot. When Aninipot appeared, the king, with eyes flashing with anger, said to the culprit, "Why were you carrying fire last night?"

Aninipot was very much frightened, but he did not lose his wits. In a trembling voice he answered, "Sir, I was carrying fire, because Lamoc [106] was always trying to bite me. To protect myself, I am going to carry fire all the time." The king thought that Aninipot had a good reason, so he pardoned him also.

The king now realized that there was a great deal of trouble brewing in his kingdom, of which he would not have been aware if he had not been awakened by the Bataktak. So he sent his sheriff to get Lamoc. In a short time Cagang appeared with Lamoc. But Lamoc, before he left his own house, had told all his companions to follow him, for he expected trouble. Before Lamoc reached the palace, the king was already shouting with rage, so Lamoc approached the king and bit his face. Then Mangla cried out, "It is true, what I heard from Bataktak, Hu-man, and Aninipot!" The king at once ordered his sheriff to kill Lamoc; but, before Cagang could carry out the order, the companions of Lamoc rushed at him. He killed Lamoc, however, and then ran to his home, followed by Lamoc's friends, who were bent on avenging the murder. As Cagang's house was very deep under the ground, Lamoc's friends could not get in, so they remained and hummed around the door.

Even to-day we can see that at the doors of the houses of Cagang and his followers there are many friends of Lamoc humming and trying to go inside. It is said that the Lamoc mistake the holes of our ears for the house of Cagang, and that that is the reason mosquitoes hum about our ears now.

A Tyrant.

Narrated by Facundo Esquivel of Jaen, Nueva Ecija. This is a Tagalog story.

Once there lived a tyrannical king. One of his laws prohibited the people from talking loudly. Even when this law had been put in force, he still was not satisfied: so he ordered the law to be enforced among the animals.

One of his officers once heard a frog croak. The officer caught the frog and carried it before the king. The king began the trial by saying, "Don't you know that there is a law prohibiting men and animals from making a noise?"

"Yes, your Majesty," said the frog, "but I could not help laughing to see the snail carrying his house with him wherever he goes."

The king was satisfied with the frog's answer, so he dismissed him and called the snail. "Why do you always carry your house with you?" asked the king.

"Because," said the snail, "I am always afraid the firefly is going to burn it." The king next ordered the firefly to appear before him. The king then said to the firefly, "Why do you carry fire with you always?"

"Because the mosquitoes will bite me if I do not carry this fire," said the firefly. This answer seemed reasonable to the king, so he summoned the mosquito. When the mosquito was asked why he was always trying to bite some one, he said, "Why, sir, I cannot live without biting somebody."

The king was tired of the long trial, so with the mosquito he determined to end it. After hearing the answer of the mosquito, he said, "From now on you must not bite anybody. You have no right to do so." The mosquito tried to protest the sentence, but the king seized his mallet and determined to crush the mosquito with it. When the mosquito saw what the king was going to do, he alighted on the forehead of the king. The king became very angry at this insult, and hit the mosquito hard. He killed the mosquito, but he also put an end to his own tyranny.

MORAL: It is foolish to carry matters to extremes.

Notes.

A fifth form (e) of this "clock" story is "The Bacuit's Case," narrated by W. Vitug of Lubao, Pampanga. As I have this tale only in abstract, I give it here in that form:—

The bacuit (small, light gray bird which haunts marshes and ponds) went to the eagle-king and brought suit against the frog because the latter croaked all night, thus keeping the bacuit awake. The frog said he croaked for fear of the turtle, who always carried his house with him. The turtle, being summoned, explained that he carried his house with him for fear that the firefly would set it on fire. The firefly, in turn, showed that it was necessary for him to carry his lamp in order to find his food.

There is a striking agreement of incident in all these stories, as may be seen from the following abstracts of the versions.



Version a (Pampango), "Trial among Animals." Bird vs. frog; frog vs, turtle; turtle vs. firefly; firefly vs. mosquito.

Version b (Pampango), "The Pugu's Case." Pugu vs. horse; horse vs. cock; cock vs. turtle; turtle vs. firefly, firefly vs. mosquito; mosquito vs. Juan.

Version c (Visayan), "Why Mosquitoes Hum." Crab vs. frogs; frogs vs. snail; snail vs. firefly; firefly vs. mosquito.

Version d (Tagalog) "A Tyrant". King's officer vs. frog; frog vs. snail; snail vs. firefly; firefly vs. mosquito.

Version e (Pampango), "The Bacuit's Case." Bacuit vs. frog; frog vs. turtle; turtle vs. firefly.

With the exception of the substitution of snail for turtle, and crab for bird, in the Tagalog and Visayan versions, four of these forms (a, c, d, e) are practically identical. Pampango e lacks the fourth link in the chain (firefly vs. mosquito). Pampango b adds one link (horse vs. cock), and substitutes cock for frog; the method of narration varies somewhat from the others, also. The punishment of the mosquito differs in a, c, and d. "The Trial among Animals" develops into a "just-so" story, and may be a connecting link between a Tinguian fable (Cole, No. 84) and two Borneo sayings (Evans, 447). In the Tinguian, a mosquito came to bite a man. The man said, "You are very little, and can do nothing to me." The mosquito answered, "If you had no ears, I would eat you." The Bajan (Borneo) saying is, "Mosquitoes do not make their buzzing unless they are near men's ears; and then they say, 'If these were not your ears, I would swallow you.'" The Dusun version (Borneo) is, "The mosquito says, 'If these were not your horns, I would swallow you.'" The "killing fly on face" droll episode, which terminates the Tagalog version (d), we have already met with twice, Nos. 9 and 57 (q.v.). The link "firefly vs. mosquito" is found in the Visayan story "The Ape and the Firefly" (JAFL 20 : 314).

There can be no question but that this cycle is native to the Islands, and was not imported from the Occident. A Malayan story given by Skeat (Fables and Folk-Tales from an Eastern Forest, 9-12), "Who Killed the Otter's Babies?" is clearly related to our tales, at least in idea and method:—

The mouse-deer (plandok) is charged with killing the otter's babies by trampling them to death, but excuses himself by saying that he was frightened because the woodpecker sounded his war-gong. In the trial before King Solomon, the above facts come out, and the woodpecker is asked why he sounded the war-gong.

WOODPECKER. Because the great lizard was wearing his sword.

GREAT LIZARD. Because the tortoise had donned his coat of mail.

TORTOISE. Because King Crab was trailing his three-edged pike.

KING CRAB. Because Crayfish was shouldering his lance.

CRAYFISH. Because Otter was coming down to devour my children.

Thus the cause of the death of the otter's children is traced to the otter himself.

Another Far-Eastern story from Laos (French Indo-China), entitled "Right and Might" (Fleeson, 27), is worth notice:—

A deer, frightened by the noise of an owl and a cricket, flees through the forest and into a stream, where it crushes a small fish almost to death. The fish complains to the court; and the deer, owl, cricket, and fish have a lawsuit. In the trial comes out this evidence: As the deer fled, he ran into some dry grass, and the seed fell into the eye of a wild chicken, and the pain caused by the seed made the chicken fly up against a nest of red ants. Alarmed, the red ants flew out to do battle, and in their haste bit a mongoose. The mongoose ran into a vine of wild fruit, and shook several pieces of it on the head of a hermit, who sat thinking under a tree. The hermit then asked the fruit why it fell, and the fruit blamed the mongoose; mongoose blamed ants; ants blamed chicken; chicken blamed seed; seed blamed deer; deer blamed owl. "O Owl!" asked the hermit, "why didst thou frighten the deer?" The owl replied, "I called but as I am accustomed to call; the cricket, too, called." Having heard the evidence, the judge says, "The cricket must replace the crushed parts of the fish and make it well," as he, the cricket, called and frightened the deer. Since the cricket is smaller and weaker than the owl or the deer, he had to bear the penalty.



TALE 61

THE GREEDY CROW.

Narrated by Agapito O. Gaa, from Taal, Batangas. He heard the story from an old Tagalog man who is now dead.

One day a crow found a piece of meat on the ground. He picked it up and flew to the top of a tree. While he was sitting there eating his meat, a kasaykasay (a small bird) passed by. She was carrying a dead rat, and was flying very fast. The crow called to her, and said, "Kasaykasay, where did you get that dead rat that you have?" But the small bird did not answer: she flew on her way. When the crow saw that she paid no attention to him, he was very angry; and he called out, "Kasaykasay, Kasaykasay, stop and give me a piece of that rat, or I will follow you and take the whole thing for myself!" Still the small bird paid no attention to him. At last, full of greed and rage, the crow determined to have the rat by any means. He left the meat he was eating, and flew after the small creature. Although she was only a little bird, the Kasaykasay could fly faster than the crow—so he could not catch her.

While the crow was chasing the Kasaykasay, a hawk happened to pass by the tree where the crow had left his meat. The hawk saw the meat, and at once seized it in his claws and flew away.

Although the crow pursued the Kasaykasay a long time, he could not overtake her: so at last he gave up his attempt, and flew back to the tree where he had left his meat. But when he came to the spot, and found that the meat was gone, he was almost ready to die of disappointment and hunger. By and by the hawk which had taken the meat passed the tree again. He called to the crow, and said to him, "Mr. Crow, do you know that I am the one who took your meat? If not, I will tell you now, and I am very sorry for you."

The crow did not answer the hawk, for he was so tired and weak that he could hardly breathe.

The moral of this story is this: Do not be greedy. Be contented with what you have, and do not wish for what you do not own.

Notes.

This fable appears to be distantly related to the European fable of "The Dog and his Shadow." More closely connected, however, is an apologue incorporated in a Buddhistic birth-story, the "Culladhanuggaha-jataka," No. 374. In this Indian story,—

An unfaithful wife eloping with her lover arrives at the bank of a stream. There the lover persuades her to strip herself, so that he may carry her clothes across the stream, which he proceeds to do, but never returns. Indra, seeing her plight, changes himself into a jackal bearing a piece of meat, and goes down to the bank of the stream. In its waters fish are disporting; and the Indra-jackal, laying aside his meat, plunges in after one of them. A vulture hovering near seizes hold of the meat and bears it aloft; and the jackal, returning unsuccessful from his fishing, is taunted by the woman, who had observed all this, in the first gatha:—

"O jackal so brown! most stupid are you; No skill have you got, not knowledge, nor wit; Your fish you have lost, your meat is all gone, And now you sit grieving all poor and forlorn."

To which the Indra-jackal repeats the second gatha:—

"The faults of others are easy to see, But hard indeed our own are to behold; Thy husband thou hast lost, and lover eke, And now, I ween, thou grievest o'er thy loss."

The same story is found in the "Pancatantra" (V, viii; see Benfey, I : 468), whence it made its way into the "Tuti-nameh." It does not appear to be known in the Occident in this form (it is lacking in the "Kalilah and Dimnah").

Although the details of our story differ from those of the Indian fable of "The Jackal and the Faithless Wife," the general outlines of the two are near enough to justify us in supposing a rather close connection between them. I know of no European analogues nearly so close, and am inclined to consider "The Greedy Crow" a native Tagalog tale. From the testimony of the narrator, it appears that the fable is not a recent importation.



TALE 62

THE HUMMING-BIRD AND THE CARABAO.

Narrated by Eusebio Lopez, a Tagalog from the province of Cavite.

One hot April morning a carabao (water-buffalo) was resting under the shade of a quinine-tree which grew near the mouth of a large river, when a humming-bird alighted on one of the small branches above him.

"How do you do, Friend Carabao?" said the humming-bird.

"I'm very well, little Hum. Do you also feel the heat of this April morning?" replied the carabao.

"Indeed, I do, Friend Carabao! and I am so thirsty, that I have come down to drink."

"I wonder how much you can drink!" said the carabao jestingly. "You are so small, that a drop ought to be more than enough to satisfy you."

"Yes, Friend Carabao?" answered little Hum as if surprised. "I bet you that I can drink more than you can!"

"What, you drink more than I can, you little Hum!"

"Yes, let us try! You drink first, and we shall see."

So old carabao, ignorant of the trick that was being played on him, walked to the bank of the river and began to drink. He drank and drank and drank; but it so happened that the tide was rising, and, no matter how much he swallowed, the water in the river kept getting higher and higher. At last he could drink no more, and the humming-bird began to tease him.

"Why, Friend Carabao, you have not drunk anything. It seems to me that you have added more water to the river instead."

"You fool!" answered the carabao angrily, "can't you see that my stomach is almost bursting?"

"Well, I don't know. I only know that you have added more water than there was before. But it is now my turn to drink."

But the humming-bird only pretended to drink. He knew that the tide would soon be going out, so he just put his bill in the water, and waited until the tide did begin to ebb. The water of the river began to fall also. The carabao noticed the change, but he could not comprehend it. He was surprised, and agreed that he had been beaten. Little Hum flew away, leaving poor old Carabao stupefied and hardly able to move, because of the great quantity of water he had drunk.

Notes.

That this story was not imported from the Occident is pretty clearly established by the existence in North Borneo of a tale almost identical with it. The Borneo fable, which is told as a "just-so" story, and is entitled "The Kandowei [rice-bird] and the Kerbau [carabao]," may be found in Evans (pp. 423-424). It runs about as follows:—

The bird said to the buffalo, "If I were to drink the water of a stream, I could drink it all."—"I also," said the buffalo, "could finish it; for I am very big, while you are very small."—"Very well," said the bird, "tomorrow we will drink." In the morning, when the water was coming down in flood, the bird told the buffalo to drink first. The buffalo drank and drank; but the water only came down the faster, and at length he was forced to stop. So the buffalo said to the bird, "You can take my place and try, for I cannot finish." Now, the bird waited till the flood had gone down; and when it had done so, he put his beak into the water and pretended to drink. Then he waited till all the water had run away out of the stream, and said to the buffalo, "See, I have finished it!" And since the bird outwitted the buffalo in this manner, the buffalo has become his slave, and the bird rides on his back.

I know of no other Philippine versions, but I dare say that many exist between Luzon and Mindanao.



TALE 63

THE CAMANCHILE AND THE PASSION.

Narrated by Fernando M. Maramag of Ilagan, Isabella province. He says that this is an Ilocano story.

Once upon a time there grew in a forest a large camanchile-tree [107] with spreading branches. Near this tree grew many other trees with beautiful fragrant flowers that attracted travellers. The camanchile had no fragrant flowers; but still its crown was beautifully shaped, for the leaves received as much light as the leaves of the other trees. But the beauty of the crown proved of no attraction to travellers, and they passed the tree by.

One day Camanchile exclaimed aloud, "Oh, what a dreary life I lead! I would that I had flowers like the others, so that travellers would visit me often!" A vine by the name of Passion, which grew near by, heard Camanchile's exclamation. Now, this vine grew fairly close to the ground, and consequently received "only a small amount of light. Thinking that this was its opportunity to improve its condition, it said, "Camanchile, why is your life dreary?"

"Ah, Passion!" replied Camanchile, "just imagine that you were unappreciated, as I am! Travellers never visit me, for I have no flowers."

"Oh, that's easy!" said Passion. "Just let me climb on you, and I'll display on your crown my beautiful flowers. Then many persons will come to see you." Camanchile consented, and let Passion climb up on him. After a few days Passion reached the top of the tree, and soon covered the crown.

A few months later Camanchile realized that he was being smothered: he could not get light, so he asked Passion to leave him. "O Passion! what pain I am in! I can't get light. Your beauty is of no value. I am being smothered: so leave me, I beg of you!"

Passion would not leave Camanchile, however, and so Camanchile died.

MORAL: Be yourself.

Note.

With this story compare the "Palasa-jataka," No. 370, which tells how a Judas-tree was destroyed by the parasitic growth of a banyan-shoot. The general idea is the same in both stories, though I hardly suspect that ours is descended from the Indian. The situation of a tree choked to death by a parasite is such a commonplace in everyday experience, that a moral story based on it might arise spontaneously almost anywhere.



TALE 64

AUAC AND LAMIRAN.

Narrated by Anastacia Villegas of Arayat, Pampanga. She heard the story from her father, and says that it is well known among the Pampangans.

Once Auac, a hawk, stole a salted fish which was hanging in the sun to dry. He flew with it to a branch of a camanchile-tree, where he sat down and began to eat. As he was eating, Lamiran, a squirrel who had his house in a hole at the foot of the tree, saw Auac. Lamiran looked up, and said, "What beautiful shiny black feathers you have, Auac!" When he heard this praise, the hawk looked very dignified. Nevertheless he was much pleased. He fluttered his wings. "You are especially beautiful, Auac, when you walk; for you are very graceful," continued the squirrel. Auac, who did not understand the trick that was being played on him, hopped along the branch with the air of a king. "I heard some one say yesterday that your voice is so soft and sweet, that every one who listens to your song is charmed. Please let me hear some of your notes, you handsome Auac!" said the cunning Lamiran. Auac, feeling more proud and dignified than ever, opened his mouth and sang, "Uac-uac-uac-uac!" As he uttered his notes, the fish in his beak fell to the ground, and Lamiran got it.

A heron which was standing on the back of a water-buffalo near by saw the affair. He said, "Auac, let me give you a piece of advice. Do not always believe what others tell you, but think for yourself; and remember that 'ill-gotten gains never prosper.'"

Notes.

This is the old story of the "Fox and Crow [and cheese]," the bibliography for which is given by Jacobs (2 : 236). Jacobs sees a connection between this fable and two Buddhistic apologues:—

(1) The "Jambu-khadaka-jataka," No. 294, in which we find a fox (jackal) and a crow flattering each other. The crow is eating jambus, when he is addressed thus by the jackal:—

"Who may this be, whose rich and pleasant notes Proclaim him best of all the singing birds, Warbling so sweetly on the jambu-branch, Where like a peacock he sits firm and grand!"

The crow replies,—

"'Tis a well-bred young gentleman who knows To speak of gentlemen in terms polite! Good sir,—whose shape and glossy coat reveal The tiger's offspring,—eat of these, I pray!"

Buddha, in the form of the genius of the jambu-tree, comments thus on their conversation:—

"Too long, forsooth, I've borne the sight Of these poor chatterers of lies,— The refuse-eater and the offal-eater Belauding each other."

(2) The "Anta-jataka," No. 295, in which the roles are reversed, the crow wheedling flesh from the jackal; here, too, the Buddha comments as above.

Our Pampangan story is of particular interest because of the moralizing of the heron at the end, making the form close to that of the two Jatakas. Possibly our story goes back to some old Buddhistic fable like these. The squirrel (or "wild-cat," as Bergafio's "Vocabulario," dated 1732, defines lamiran) is not a very happy substitution for the original ground-animal, whatever that was; for the squirrel could reach a fish hanging to dry almost as easily as a bird could. Besides, squirrels are not carnivorous. Doubtless the older meaning of "wild-cat" should be adopted for lamiran.



PART III

"JUST-SO" STORIES.

TALE 65

WHY THE ANT IS NOT SO VENOMOUS AS THE SNAKE.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa of Lipa, Batangas. This is a Tagalog story.

God first created the earth. Then he took a rock from the earth and threw it on the terrestrial surface. When the rock was broken into many small pieces, he breathed into them the breath of life, and they became living creatures. At first these creatures, though differing in shapes and sizes, were not given different powers.

Among these creatures of God's were the snake and the ant. One day the snake went to God to ask for power. It said, "I come to thee, O God! to ask for thy favor. The world thou hast just created is wild with confusion. I have come to ask thee to give me the special power to kill all those that are rebellious and troublesome."

"Go back to your fellow-creatures!" answered God. "Hereafter you are endowed with the power to store in your teeth this poison. When you bite the vile and contemptible, inject into the wound some of this poison, and they will be killed; but first of all, observe their actions, and be conscientious and thoughtful." Then God gave the snake the poison. The snake returned to the earth in great joy.

When the ant heard that the snake was endowed with such power, it at once went to God to ask that the same privilege be granted it. The ant found God on his heavenly throne, instructing his host of angels. The ant approached God, and addressed him thus: "O thou almighty God! my brother the snake has been granted a great privilege by thee. Why art thou so unkind to me? Give me the same power, and I will be of great aid to the snake in destroying sinners." God, thinking that the snake might need an assistant, gave the ant the same privilege that he had given the snake.

The ant was so greatly overjoyed, that it ran as fast as it could to the earth. When God saw it running, he called to the ant, but it paid no attention to him. Then God, being very much enraged, took away some of the ant's power, lest the ant might use it unreasonably. And so to-day the ant's bite is not so poisonous as the snake's.



Notes.

Another form of this story, recorded by Andrea Silva, also of Lipa, Batangas, runs as follows:—

In the olden times, when this great universe was still young, the inhabitants of this Archipelago had a sacred belief in a superior god whom they called Bathala. He was the creator of all things.

One day Bathala called the animals one by one, and bestowed upon each a gift, or the power of doing something. To the bird he gave the power to fly. Next Bathala called the ant, likewise intending to bestow on it more power than on any other animals, because it was so very small; but the ant was the most stupid and lazy of all creatures. It did not pay any attention to the summons of the god, but pretended to be deaf. Whereupon Bathala became so angry that he called the snake and gave to it the wonderful power that he had intended to give the ant. "You, Sir Snake, shall seldom be caught by any person, for you shall have the power of being very nimble. Besides, every one shall be afraid of you."

When finally the ant appeared before the god, asking him for the gift he had promised, Bathala said, "O you poor, tiny, imprudent creature! Since you disobeyed your god, from now on you and your tribe shall meet with death very often, for you shall be pinched by those whom you bite."

And so it is to-day that we pinch to death the ants whenever they bite us.

The narrator testified that she heard the story from an old woman in her town of Lipa. So far as I know, this "just-so" fable of "The Ant and the Snake and God" has not been recorded outside of Lipa, Batangas; and I am inclined to believe that it represents old local tradition.



TALE 66

WHY LOCUSTS ARE HARMFUL.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

During the dawn of humanity, some angels headed by Satanas revolted against God. They wanted to establish a kingdom for themselves. In a battle against the army of God, in which God himself was present, Satanas threw a handful of sand into God's face; but the heavenly monarch just laughed, and said, "I turn the sand back to thee. The particles shall become the scourge of all ages to thee and to thy followers, O Satanas!"

No sooner had God uttered these words than the particles of sand became a mighty swarm of locusts, that flew in all directions. Such was the beginning of the pest.

Notes.

A tribal Bicol-story narrated by Maximina Navarro of Albay runs thus:—

The Origin of Locusts.

Many years ago there lived a head man whose home was situated in a very fertile valley, all the inhabitants of which he governed. He was not a good ruler, however; for he was so greedy, that he wanted to hoard up all the rice produced by his people. Every year, therefore, he squeezed from his subjects as much rice as he could get, so that at the end of four years his granaries were full to bursting. It happened that in the fifth year the crop failed, and the people knew that they should starve unless their ruler would let them have rice from his barns. At first they were afraid to go petition the head man, for they feared that he would refuse them; but, when nearly one-half of the children had died from starvation, they agreed to send some representatives to beg for rice.

Seven men were chosen to be the ambassadors. When they reached the house of the datu, for so they called their ruler, they asked for admittance, crying that they wanted rice for their wives and children. When the datu heard their cry, he went to the door and made a motion as if he would knock the petitioners off the ladder leading to the house. He lost his balance and fell, striking his head sharply on the bottom of the ladder. Thinking that he was dead, the seven men made no attempt to help him, but went home, proclaiming that soon there would be rice enough for all.

But the datu was not dead, only badly stunned. The next morning, as he was walking around his granaries, they exploded with a loud noise; and all the rice flew away in the form of insects, and vanished from his sight. This kind of insect which originated from the rice we call doron (from the Spanish word duro), on account of the toughness of its skin.

A more intelligible version of this story is the following related by Felix de la Llana, who was told it by an old farmer of Candelaria, Zambales. It appears to represent old Pagan tradition modified somewhat by Christianity.

The Origin of Locusts.

When all the surface of the earth was yet a wilderness and the people were very few, there lived a farmer who wished to become rich all at once. So he told his wife to pray to Kayamanan, the goddess of riches, to give them fortune.

One night the goddess with arms extended appeared to them in a dream, and advised the ambitious farmer to build six large barns. Then she went to the goddess of plenty, Kainomayan, and asked her to give this farmer abundant crops. When the farmer harvested his rice the next season, he was astounded to find that the crop more than filled his six barns. So delighted was he, and so greedy, that he and his wife thought no more of the source of their good fortune, and they neglected to celebrate a feast in honor of God and his goddesses. He felt like a powerful monarch, and did not wish to work any more. However, his riches did not last long, as we shall see.

One day the goddess Kayamanan disguised herself, and in the form of a beggar came to the house of the rich farmer. She begged him to let her rest for a little while under his roof, for she had been travelling in many countries, she said. When she asked for some remnants of rice to eat, the ungrateful farmer said to her, "Get off my grounds! don't come here to bother me! If you don't leave at once, I shall let this dog loose, and you will be its food." The poor beggar went away without a word, but she begged almighty God to give her the power to change anything to any form or creature she wished. As she was God's favorite, her request was granted. So she assumed her own form, and went again to the farmer's house. To him she said, "You who became rich by my aid, and have denied food and shelter to a beggar, shall be punished. Since you have neglected your duty both to the poor and to me, I therefore, with the consent of the almighty God, punish you thus: your rice shall turn to a swarm of locusts, which will destroy all the crops of the farmers of your own race and those of other countries."

The punishment was carried out, and the farmer was left destitute.

This story is also known in the Tagalog province of Batangas.

In a Rumanian saga (Daehnhardt, 3 : 250) a swarm of locusts is sent by God to punish an emperor who would not invite any priests or nuns to his wedding-banquet. When the guests were about to eat the feast prepared, the insects appeared and devoured everything. Since that time locusts have appeared whenever mankind has forgotten God.



TALE 67

HOW LANSONES BECAME EDIBLE.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

Once upon a time the fruit of the lansone-tree was very poisonous. Its very juice could make a man sick with leprosy. One day a very religious old man was passing through a forest to attend the fiesta of the neighboring town. When he reached the middle of the thick wood, he became very hungry and tired, and he felt that he could go no farther. No matter where he looked, he could see nothing but the poisonous lansone-trees. So he lay down on the soft grass. Hardly a moment had passed, when a winged being from heaven approached him, and said, "My good Christian pilgrim, take some of these lansone-fruits, eat them, and you will be much relieved." At first the old man would not do it, but the angel picked some of the fruits and handed them to the pilgrim. He then ate, and soon his hunger was removed. After thanking Heaven, he continued on his journey. Ever since this time, lansones have been good to eat. All the fruits still bear the marks of the angel's fingers.

Notes.

The lanson (Lansium domesticum) is a small tree of Malaysia, extensively cultivated for its fruit, which resembles a yellow plum (from E. Ind. lansa). It is not native to the Philippines, and was probably introduced into the Islands by the Malays in prehistoric times. Our story, which I think we must consider not imported, is based on a fancied etymological connection between lanson and lason (Tag. for "poison"), and does not appear to be known except to the Tagalogs of La Laguna province, although in Pampango also the word lason means "poison." Lason itself is derived from the Malay rachun, perhaps through the Sulu lachun.

Two other Tagalog versions, both from Laguna province, also show the influence of Christianity, but vary enough from our story to be worthy of record here. One, related by Manuel Gallego of San Antonio, Nueva Ecija, is entitled "The Adam and Eve of the Tagalogs." Mr. Gallego heard the story from a farmer living in Lubang, La Laguna. It runs as follows:—

Many hundreds of years ago, when Luzon was still uninhabited, Bathala, our supreme god, was envious of Laon, the god of the Visayans, because Laon had many subjects, while Bathala's kingdom was a barren desert. It was within the power of Bathala to create human beings, but not food for them; and so he asked for advice from Diwata, the supreme god of the universe.

Diwata told Bathala that the next day he would send an angel to earth with seeds to be planted. The promise was fulfilled, and Bathala scattered the seeds all over Luzon. Within a short time the island was covered with trees and shrubs, and was then ready for human habitation. Accordingly Bathala created Adam and Eve, the ancestors of the Tagalogs. In spite of the fact that they were forbidden to eat the green fruit of a certain plant, they disobeyed and ate it; so, as a punishment, they were poisoned and made very sick. They did not die, however. As a result of their experience, they gave the name lason ("poison") to this plant. Conscious of their fault, Adam and Eve implored forgiveness of Diwata. By order of Diwata, Bathala forgave the criminals; but the lason still remained poisonous. In order to rid it of its dangerous properties, an angel was sent to earth. He put the marks of his finger-nails on the surface of the pulp of each lason-seed, and these marks may be seen to this day. Afterwards the name of the plant was changed from lason to lanzon, the name by which it has been known ever since.

In the other Tagalog version, narrated by Eulogio Benitez of Pagsanjan, La Laguna, the incident of the finger-prints is told as a local saint-legend of Paete. The story is entitled "How Lanzones became Edible."

The little town of Paete, on the southern and western shore of Laguna de Bay, produces more lanzones than any other town in the province. Steamers call daily at her wharves for the fruits which have made her famous. In the church of this town may still be seen the image of the mother of God, the Virgin Mary, leading her child.

One evening a long time ago it was discovered that the beautiful image was missing from its accustomed place in the church. The news spread like wildfire, and all the people were in great amazement and consternation. While all was confusion in the town, a heavenly sight was being presented in a little place outside the municipality. A beautiful woman dressed in white was walking over the grass with a child in her arms. They were going towards a lanzon-tree on the other side of the meadow. The boy, who was evidently tired of being carried, asked to be put down. When the child saw the fruits scattered all over the ground, he felt very thirsty, and, picking up one of the tempting fruits, began to open it. The mother told her son that the fruit was poisonous; but the child said that he was very thirsty, and could go no farther if he did not have a drink. Then the mother took the fruit from his hands, and with her delicate white fingers pinched the pulp gently. Turning to her son, she said, "Now you may take this and eat it. You will find it the most delicious and refreshing of all fruits." The child obeyed, and the fruit was indeed sweet.

This is the way by which the lanzones were transformed from a poisonous, dangerous fruit to a sweet, delicate food. If any one discredits this story, all he needs to do to prove its truth is to open up any lanzon he finds, and he will see without fall the finger-prints of the Virgin.



TALE 68

WHY COCKS FIGHT ONE ANOTHER.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

Once upon a time in an unknown country there lived a royal couple endowed with almost all the blessings of God. Their palace was decorated with all kinds of precious stones, diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds. They were often honored with visits from the celestial beings. There was hardly an hour of the day when some sort of jubilation or festival was not being held in the royal home. But, in spite of all his riches, there was a melancholy in the mind of the king,—a brooding, a cankering thought, that would not give him an hour of rest or contentment. In spite of all the favors lavished on him by God, he felt miserable and uneasy. He had a happy and wealthy kingdom, but—he had no heir. There was nobody to manage the government after his death. Whenever the thought of death came to his mind, he fell on his knees and implored the Almighty to give him a son: "Have mercy on me, O God! Give me a son to manage my kingdom after I am gone!"

One evening an angel from Paradise came to visit him, and, on finding the king at his prayers, said, "Dry thy tears, O king! Thy royal prayer is heard in heaven. Thou shalt be given more than a son, but not in the same shape as thou art. Thy sons shall see the light of day crowned with their own flesh." The king was so greatly overjoyed, that he could not speak a single word of gratitude in reply.

Not long afterward the queen gave birth to a cock that crowed on seeing the light of day. The couple were very glad: night and day they caressed the royal babe, and they would have made for him a cage of gold had not God forbidden them to do so. Every year a cock was born into the royal family, until the feathered sons numbered thirteen. But these sons were jealous of one another: each thought that the others had no right to wear crowns.

At last the old king and queen died, and no one was left to manage the royal demesne but the dumb sons. Thereafter the feathered orphans began fighting one another, each one trying to wrest the crown from the others.

Note.

I know of no variant of this story.



TALE 69

WHY BATS FLY AT NIGHT.

Narrator, Francisco M. Africa.

Many years ago the earth was inhabited by only one man. His body was composed of minute organisms that were incessantly warring against one another. One day this man became so weak that he could not obtain food for his support. He laid himself down on some soft moss by the bank of a river, and there he remained till night.

The organisms that lived in his body began to fight against one another most fiercely. Each ate his fellow until he became very big. At last the man died, and only one organism remained alive. This organism then flew away, and became the ancestor of the bats. The light of day so dazzled his eyes, that he could not fly very far, so he decided to fly only at night. And ever since, his descendants, too, have hidden themselves in the day-time, and come out only when it is dark.

Note.

This somewhat unsatisfactory pourquoi story appears to represent at bottom a very ancient tradition. I know of no parallels; but tales explaining why the bat flies at night are found among many peoples (e.g., Daehnhardt, 3 : 94, 267, 270; Dayrell, Nos. VII, XII).



TALE 70

WHY THE SUN SHINES MORE BRIGHTLY THAN THE MOON.

A Tagalog story narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

Long, long ago there lived a fairy with two very beautiful daughters. Araw, the elder daughter, was very amiable, and had a kindly disposition; but Buwan, unlike her sister, was disobedient, cruel, and harsh. She was always finding fault with Araw. One night, when the fairy came home from her nocturnal rambles and saw Buwan badly mistreating her elder sister, she asked God for help against her unruly daughter.

Before this time God had prepared very valuable gifts for the two sisters. These gifts were two enormous diamonds that could light the whole universe. When God heard the prayer of the fairy, he descended to earth disguised as a beggar. On learning for himself how bad-tempered Buwan was, and how sweet and kind-hearted Araw, God gave the older sister her diamond as a reward. Buwan was greatly angered by this favoritism on the part of the Almighty, so she went to the heavenly kingdom and stole one of God's diamonds. Then she returned to earth with the precious stone, but there she found that her jewel was not so brilliant as Araw's.

When God went back to heaven and learned what Buwan had done, he sent two angels to punish her. But the angels abused their commission: they seized both sisters and hurled them into the sea. Then they threw the two stones upward into the sky, and there they stuck. But Araw's diamond was bigger and brighter than the one Buwan stole. Thereafter the bigger jewel was called Araw ("day" or "sun"); and the smaller one, Buwan ("moon").

Notes.

A Pangasinan myth, narrated by Emilio Bulatao of San Carlos, Pangasinan, tells how the light from the sun and the moon proceeds from two fiery palaces. The story follows:—

The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars.

There was once a powerful god called Ama ["father"], the father and ruler of all others, and the creator of man. He had a wonderful aerial abode, from which he could see everything. Of all his sons, Agueo ["sun, day"] and Bulan ["moon"] were his two favorites, and to these he gave each a fiery palace. In accordance with the wish of their father, Agueo and Bulan daily passed across the earth side by side, and together they furnished light to mankind. Now, Agueo was of a morose and taciturn disposition, but he was always very obedient to his father; Bulan, on the other hand, was merry and full of mischief.

Once, when they were near the end of their day's labor, they saw thieves on the earth below, wishing that it were night so that they might proceed with their unlawful business. Bulan, who was one of their kind, urged Agueo to be quick, so that the earth might soon be left in darkness. As Agueo obstinately refused to be hurried, a quarrel ensued between the two brothers. Their father, who had been watching the two boys and had heard all that passed between them, became very angry with the mischievous Bulan; and, in his wrath, he seized an enormous rock and hurled it whistling through the air. The rock struck the palace of Bulan, and was broken into thousands of pieces, which got perpetual light from contact with the fiery palace. These may still be seen in the heavens, and they are called Bituen ["stars"]. Bulan was forbidden to travel with Agueo any more, but was commanded to light the ways of thieves henceforth with his much-dimmed fiery palace.

A somewhat similar Pampango myth may also be given here, as it has never before been printed. It was narrated by Leopoldo Layug of Guagua, Pampanga, and is entitled "The Sun and the Moon."

Long ago the earth was created and ruled by Bathala. He had two children, Apolaqui and Mayari. From the eyes of these two children the earth received its first light. The people, the birds of the air, the animals of the mountains, and even the fishes of the sea, were glad because they had light, and so they were great friends of the two children.

Bathala loved his children tenderly, and never wanted them to be separated from him. So, no matter how tired he was, he always followed them in their daily walks. But as time went on, and Bathala became old and feeble and could no longer keep up with his active son and daughter, he asked them to stay with him at all times; but they were so absorbed in their pleasures, that they paid no heed to their father's wish. One day he became sick, and died suddenly, without leaving any written will as to the disposition of his kingdom. Now Apolaqui wanted to rule the earth without giving any power to his sister Mayari. She refused to consent to her brother's plan, and a bitter conflict arose between them. For a long time they fought with bamboo clubs. At last Mayari had one of her eyes put out. When Apolaqui saw what he had done to his sister, he felt very sorry for her, and said that they should struggle no longer, but that they should exercise equal power on the earth, only at different times. Since that time, Apolaqui, who is now called the Sun, has ruled the earth during the day, and from his eyes we receive bright light. Mayari, who is called the Moon, rules the world at night. Her light, however, is fainter than her brother's, for she has but one eye.

This same struggle between the two great luminaries is reflected in two short cradle-songs that Pampangan mothers sing to their children to still them. These verses were contributed by Lorenzo Licup of Angeles:—

Ing bulan ilaning aldo Mitatagalan la baho Pangaras da quetang cuarto Nipag sundang, mipagpusto.

"The Moon and the Sun chased each other above. When they came into a room, they took their daggers from their sides and were ready to fight each other."

Ing aldo ilaning bulan Mitatagalan la lalan Pangaras da quetang Pampang Mipagpustu, 't, mitabacan.

"The Sun and the Moon chased each other below. When they came to a bank, they first made preparation, and then began to fight each other with bolos."

The two stories and the two stanzas just given appear to be genuine old native tradition, unmodified by Christianity.

For Tinguian, Bukidnon, Mandaya, and Visayan myths of the sun, moon, and stars, see M. C. Cole, 65, 124, 145, 201.



TALE 71

WHY THE CULING HAS A TONSURE.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

In a certain field there lived two birds,—Pogo ("quail") and Culing (a small black bird that has no feathers on the top of its head). One day Pogo, while scratching the ground for food, met Culing. When Culing saw Pogo, he said in a taunting tone, "Where are you going, lazy one? Be more active. Don't be as lazy as a leech!"

Pogo became very angry. "You call me lazy!" he said. "You are much lazier than I. Let us see which can fly higher into the sky!"

Thereupon Culing agreed, and he began to fly upward until he was lost from sight. He flew so high, that his head touched the surface of the sky. As the sky was hot, all the feathers on the top of his head were burned off; and ever since, the culing has had a tonsure.

The Culeto and the Crow.

Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog from Calamba, La Laguna. He says, "This tradition is a favorite one among Tagalog children. I have often heard the story told by old men while I was waiting my turn at barber-shops in my province."

The culeto is a fine singer, but it is bald-headed. The natives often capture it and train it to talk. Formerly this little black bird was not so bald as it is to-day: its head, in fact, was covered with a thick growth of feathers. And the crow, too: it was not black once, but its feathers were as white as starch.

Once upon a time, shortly after the Deluge, the crow was merrily crowing on the branch of a tree when the culeto came by. The voice of the crow was so harsh, that the culeto made fun of it. "Good-morning, Mr. Crow!" said the culeto, "I am very glad to hear you sing. Your voice is so fine, that I cannot help closing my ears."

"Pray, think first of yourself!" answered the crow. "What do I care for a good voice, so long as I have a strong body? Why don't you laugh at yourself? See how weak and tiny you are!"

"Weak!" said the culeto. "Do you call me weak? I would fly a race even with an eagle."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the crow. "The idea of racing the eagle when you do not even dare race me!"

"Race with you! Why, you would only disgrace yourself," retorted the culeto.

"Wait!" answered the crow. "Eat some more rice, drink some more water, fill your body with more air! And wait till you grow bigger before you venture to race with me!"

"The strength of a person," said the culeto, nettled, "is not to be judged by his size. Don't you know that it is the smallest pepper that is the hottest?"

"Well, then," replied the crow, "if you wish to race me now at your own risk, let us begin!"

"One, two, three!" counted the culeto, and up they flew. During their flight the two birds became separated from each other by a dense cloud. The culeto flew at full speed so high upward, that he knocked his head very hard against the door of the sky,—so hard, in fact, that a large piece of skin was scraped from his scalp. The crow, having lost his way, flew so near the sun, that his feathers were burned black.

It is on account of this bet between the culeto and the crow that all the descendants of the former have been bald-headed, while all the descendants of the crow have black feathers to-day.

The Hawk and the Coling.

Narrated by Agapito Gaa of Taal, Batangas. He says that this Tagalog story is well known in every town in Batangas province. He heard the story from his grandfather.

Early one morning a hawk sallied forth from his nest to find something to eat. He flew so high that he could hardly be seen from the earth. He looked down; but as he could not see anything, he flew lower and lower, until he came to the top of a tree. On one of the branches he saw sitting quietly a coling. The hawk despised the little bird, and at once made up his mind to challenge him to a flight upward.

So the hawk said to the coling, "Do you wish to fly up into the sky with me to see which of us can fly the faster and the higher?"

The coling did not answer at once, but he thought of the matter for a while. Then he said to the hawk, "When do you want to have the race?"

"That is for you to decide," said the hawk. "If you wish to have it now, well and good."

"Well," said the coling, "let us have it to-morrow morning before sunrise!"

"All right," said the hawk.

"But," said the coling, "each of us is to carry a load with him to make the flight a little more difficult."

"Well, what do you want to take with you?" said the hawk.

"I will take some salt," said the coling.

"Then I will take some cotton," replied the hawk. "Let us meet here in this tree early to-morrow!" This agreed upon, the two birds separated. The hawk went to the cotton-field and got his load of cotton, while the coling went to the sea and got some salt.

The next morning they met in the tree, each having the object he would carry with him in his flight. They asked the crow, who was present, to be the judge of the contest. The crow accepted the commission, and said that he would give a caw as a signal for them to start. He did so, and the two contestants were off. At first the hawk flew faster and higher than the coling; but very soon it began to rain. The cotton on the hawk's back became soaked with water, and soon was very heavy; but the salt on the coling's back was soon dissolved, and then he had no load at all. Under these conditions, the coling soon overtook the bigger bird. For a time they flew side by side; but after a few minutes the coling had the best of the race, and in a little while longer the hawk could no longer see his rival. But the coling flew so high, that at last his head touched the sun, and all the feathers on the top were burned off. The hawk now flew down to the crow, and said that he had won the race, for the coling had fallen to the ground dead. But by and by the coling himself came. He showed them the top of his head as a proof that he had won the race. The crow gave his decision in favor of the coling, and the hawk flew off disgraced.

From that time all colings have had the tops of their heads bald to show that they are the descendants of the victorious bird.



Notes.

These three forms of the "flight-contest" incident are all from southern Luzon,—the provinces of La Laguna and Batangas. The tale seems to be definitely localized there. I know of its occurrence nowhere else in the Islands. Nor have I found any Malayan variants.

For other pourquoi stories of why certain birds are bald, see Daehnhardt, 3 : 11-14. Daehnhardt (ibid., 142) cites a Ceylon tale of the crow and the drongo, who had a bet as to which could fly the higher carrying a load. Crow selected tree-cotton for his burden; but Drongo, noticing the black rain-clouds overhead, carried salt, and thus won; for his load became constantly lighter, while Crow's became heavier.

With the explanation given in the second tale of this group of why the crow is black, compare a Pawnee story (JAFL 6 : 126), in which a crow, which is sent to the sun to get fire, has all his feathers singed.



TALE 72

WHY THE COW'S SKIN IS LOOSE ON THE NECK.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

There was once a poor farmer who possessed a cow and a carabao. These two animals were his only wealth. Every day he led them to the field to plough. He worked his animals so hard, that they often complained to him; but the cruel master would not even listen to their words. One day the cow, who had grown tired of this kind of life, said to the carabao, "Let us run away from this evil man! Though we are very dirty, he is not willing for us even to take a bath. If we remain here with him, we shall be as ugly and as filthy as pigs. If we run away from him, however, he will have to do his own work, and then we shall be revenged. Hurry up! Let us go!"

The spirit of the carabao was aroused: he jumped with a loud roar, and said, "I too have long been meditating escape, but I hesitated because I was afraid you might not be willing to join me in flight. We are so ill-treated by our cruel master, that God will have pity on us. Come on! Let us go!"

The two animals at once set out, running as fast as they could, always trying to avoid any human beings. When they came to a river, the cow said, "We are very dirty. Let us take a bath before we go on! The water of this river is so clean and clear, that we shall soon be as clean as we were before our contemptible master got hold of us."

The carabao answered, "We would better run a little farther, for perhaps our master is already in pursuit of us. Besides, we are very tired now, and I have been told that to take a bath when one is tired injures the health."

"Don't believe that!" returned the cow. "Our bodies are so big, that we do not need to fear sickness."

At last the carabao was persuaded by the arguments of the cow; and he said, "All right! Let us take off our clothes before we go into the water!"

The two animals then stripped themselves of all their clothes, then they plunged into the deep, cool river. They had been in the water less than an hour, however, when they saw their master coming after them with a big stick in his hand. They ran up to where their clothes were; but in their haste the carabao put on the cow's clothes, and the cow got the carabao's. As soon as they were dressed, they continued their mad flight; and as their master was very tired, he had to give up the chase and return home disappointed.

Since the carabao was larger than the cow, the skin on the cow's neck has been loose ever since, because the two friends were separated and could never exchange clothes again. And likewise the skin on the carabao's neck has been tight ever since these two animals made their mistake in dressing.

The First Loose-Skinned Cow and the First Tight-Skinned Carabao.

Narrated by Amanda Morente, a Tagalog from Pinamalayan, Mindoro. She heard the story from an old woman of her town.

Many years ago, when the people of the world were still few in number and the animals took the place of servants, an old man bought a cow and a carabao from his neighbor. With these animals he travelled until he reached the top of a mountain. There they saw a cave, and the old man told his servants to enter and see if there was any danger inside. With slow and cautious steps the carabao and the cow went in, examining every corner. All at once the cow perceived something moving. In his fright he jumped back, and hid behind his companion; but the slow-going carabao did not see the figure, and suddenly he felt his hind leg seized in a strong grasp. The god of the cave had caught him. Then the god of the cave spoke. His voice was terrifying, but his words were kind. He told them how for many days he had been hungry, and he asked for meat. The cow, whose courage had by this time been somewhat restored, gladly offered him some of her master's provisions, which she was carrying. In return for this kindness, the god gave each of the animals a dress: to the carabao he gave one of gold; and to the cow, one of bronze. He also invited the two to remain with him and be his servants.

Some time after the two friends had been installed in their new home, the god of the cave sent them one day to gather fruits. The carabao and the cow were delighted at this prospect of a change, and they jumped with joy. They rushed out into the woods; and when they came to a pond, they took off their new clothes and plunged into the soft mud. While they were enjoying their bath, they saw their master coming. He was carrying a big stick. They knew very well that he would beat them, for they had been away the whole morning. In their haste to get their clothes back on, they made a mistake: the carabao got into the cow's dress, and the cow into the carabao's. After that they never exchanged their clothes, which finally became their outer skin. So to-day the carabao has a tight bronze-colored skin; and the cow, a loose golden-colored one.

Note.

Like the preceding, this story appears to be a native Tagalog tale. I know of no other variants.



TALE 73

WHY THE MONKEY IS WISE.

Narrated by Francisco M. Africa.

Once upon a time there lived a poor man who had seven sons. These young men, all except the youngest, helped their aged father with the work; but the family became poorer and poorer. One day, when they had exhausted all their means of support, the father called his sons before him. To every son he assigned a certain kind of work, so that there might be cooperation, and hence efficiency, in the labors of the humble family. To the youngest son was assigned the task of gathering sticks in the forest for fuel.

Not long afterwards a pestilence broke out in the little town where the old man lived, and all his sons but the youngest died. The father was left to starve on his bed, for his only living son was so ungrateful as not to give any help to his father in his last years. When the old man was about to breathe his last, he called his son to give him his final benediction; but the ungrateful boy, instead of going to his dying father, ran away into the woods, and the old man passed away without anybody to care for him.

But God punished the unfilial son; he cursed him; and the boy lost his power of speech, and was condemned to live in the forests ever after as a monkey. Thus, although monkeys cannot talk, they are wise because they are descended from a human being.

Notes.

I know of no analogues of this story, but will cite two other Filipino myths accounting for the origin of monkeys. The first was narrated by Antonio Maceda, a Tagalog from Pagsanjan, who heard it from his grandfather. The story follows.

Origin of the Monkey.

A long time ago the world, which was divided into earth and heaven, was very lonesome, for Bathala was the only living being in it. He lived in heaven. One day Bathala felt so lonely, that the thought of creating some living beings for his companions came into his mind. He had never thought of this before, although with his infinite power he could do anything he pleased. So he came down to earth to get some clay; but he found the ground very dry, for there was no such thing as rain on the earth. Immediately he said, "Let there be rain!" and the rain fell down. Then, with a large load of slippery clay, Bathala returned to heaven and began the work of creation. He created men, birds, plants, mountains, and rivers (sic!). While he was in the act of creating men, however, an accident occurred. As he was moulding a piece of clay into the shape of a man, the mould slipped from his left hand. Bathala was quick enough to grasp the back of this lifeless mass of clay; but the clay was so soft that it stretched out into a long rope, and the mould fell into a tree. In his anger, Bathala said, "I curse thee! Thou shalt have life, but thou shalt inhabit trees. The part of thy body that has been stretched out into a rope shall become thy tail."

The lifeless mould was at once changed into a monkey, the great-grandfather of all the monkeys.

The following story was written down by Sotero Albano, an Ilocano from Dingras, Ilocos Norte:—

The First Monkey.

Long years ago there lived in a thick forest a young girl under the care of the goddess of weaving. Here she lived happily and without care, for everything that she wanted to eat was provided for her by her patroness.

One day the goddess said to the girl, "Take this cotton, clean it, and make out of it a dress for yourself." Now, the girl knew nothing about making cloth and weaving it: so she said to the goddess, "When the cotton is cleaned, is it ready for use?"

"No," answered her guardian; "after it is cleaned, it must be beaten." "Well, after it is beaten, is it ready for use?" said the lazy girl.

The goddess said that before it could be used, it would have to be spun.

"Well, after it is spun," persisted the saucy maiden, "is it ready for use?"

"No; it must next be woven into cloth, cut, and sewed," answered the patient goddess.

"Oh!" said the girl, "it will take a long time and much hard work to make clothes that way. This leather hide, which you have given me to beat the cotton on, will make me better clothing, because it will wear longer." So she covered herself with the leather. The goddess was so angry at the girl for her laziness, that she determined that the leather should not only be her dress, but also become her very skin. Then the goddess took the stick for beating the cotton, and, thrusting it between the maiden's buttocks, said to her, "This stick will become a part of your body, and you will use it for climbing-purposes. As a penalty for your laziness, henceforth you shall live in trees in the forest, and there you will find your food."

Thus originated the first monkey with a coat of leather and a tail.

Obviously connected with this Ilocano story are three Tinguian myths recorded by Cole, who abstracts them thus:—

(No. 65.) A lazy man, who is planting corn, constantly leans on his planting-stick. It becomes a tail, and he turns into a monkey.

(No. 66.) A boy is too lazy to strip sugarcane for himself. His mother, in anger, tells him to stick it up his anus. He does so, and becomes a monkey.

(No. 67.) A lazy girl pretends she does not know how to spin. Her companions, in disgust, tell her to stick the spinning-stick up her anus. She does so, and at once changes into a monkey.

Compare also a Bagobo story collected by Miss Benedict (JAFL 26 : 21), where a ladle becomes a monkey's tail; also an African saga in Daehnhardt (3 : 488).

The Filipinos have other explanatory myths which credit Lucifer with the creation of monkeys and snakes.



TALE 74

THE LOST NECKLACE.

Narrated by Facundo Esquivel, a Tagalog, who heard the story from a friend from Cebu. The story is Visayan.

Once a crow bought a fine necklace from a merchant. He was very proud of his purchase, which he immediately put around his neck, so that everybody could see it. Then he flew away, and came to a beautiful little garden, where he met his old friend the hen strutting about, with her chicks following her. The hen said to him, "Oh, what a fine necklace you have! May I borrow it? I will return it to you to-morrow without fail."

Now, the crow liked the hen: so he willingly lent her the necklace for a day. The next morning, when the crow returned for his property, he found the hen and her chicks scratching the ground near an old wall. "Where is my necklace?" said the crow.

"It is lost," said the hen. "My chicks took it yesterday while I was asleep, and now they do not remember where they put it. We have been looking for it all day, and yet we have not been able to find it."

"You must pay for it at once," said the crow, "or else I shall go to the king and tell him that you stole my necklace."

The hen was frightened at this reply, and she began to wonder how she could raise the necessary money. The crow, who was on his way to a fiesta, at last said impatiently, "I will take one of your chicks every day in payment of what you owe me. As soon as you find the necklace, give it to me, and then I will stop eating your chicks." The hen had to be satisfied with this arrangement, for she feared that the crow would go to the king if she refused.

Unto this day, then, you can find hens and chicks together looking for the lost necklace by scratching the ground; and the crows are still exacting payment for the lost jewel by eating chicks. It is said that the hens and chickens will never cease scratching the ground until the lost necklace is found.

The Cock and the Sparrow-Hawk.

Narrated by Dolores Asuncion of Manila. She heard the story from an old Tagalog.

Long ago the sparrow-hawk and the cock were very good friends. Once, when the cocks were going to hold a great fiesta in the neighboring village, a proud young rooster, who wished to get the reputation for being rich and consequently win him a wife, went to the sparrow-hawk, and said, "My friend, please lend me your bracelet! I am going to our fiesta; and I wish to make some young hens there believe that I am rich, in order that they may love me."

The sparrow-hawk answered, "With much pleasure, my friend."

So the cock went to the fiesta wearing the borrowed bracelet. While he was dancing, however, he lost the jewel, and could find it nowhere. At last he went back to the sparrow-hawk, and said, "I am very sorry, my friend, but I lost your bracelet while I was dancing, and I can find it nowhere. What do you wish me to give you in payment for it?"

The sparrow-hawk answered, "Since that bracelet was an heirloom, I valued it very highly. You must go back to the place where you think you lost it, and there look for it until you find it. In the mean time I reserve the right to take from your flock a chicken whenever I please."

So, ever since that time sparrow-hawks are often seen carrying off young chickens, while the cocks have been busy scratching the ground to find the lost bracelet. Hens also scratch the soil, for they hate to lose their chicks, and they want to find the bracelet as soon as possible. They look up into the sky to see if the sparrow-hawk is near; then they scratch the soll vigorously, and cry, "Tac-ta-laoc!" which means, "Come and help me!"

Note.

Another Visayan variant of these two stories may be found in the "Journal of American Folk-Lore" (20 : 100), whence it has been reprinted by M. C. Cole (p. 212), "The Hawk and the Hen." An African analogue may be found in Dayrell (No. xv, p. 62).



TALE 75

THE STORY OF OUR FINGERS.

Narrated by Leopoldo Uichanco, a Tagalog from Calamba, La Laguna.

"Why," said Antonio to his grandfather one day, "does our thumb stand separate from the other fingers?"

"That is only so in our days," replied old Julian. "In the days of long ago the fingers of our ancestors stood together in the same position. One day one of these fingers, the one we call the little finger, became very hungry, and he asked the finger next to him to give him some food.

"'O brother!' said the Ring-Finger in reply, 'I am hungry also; but where shall we get food?'

"'Heaven is merciful,' put in the Middle-Finger, trying to comfort his two brothers; 'Heaven will give us some.'

"'But, Brother Middle-Finger,' protested the Forefinger, 'what if Heaven gives us no food?'

"'Well, then,' interposed the Thumb, 'let us steal!'

"'Steal!' echoed the Forefinger, not at all pleased by the advice that had just been given. 'Mr. Thumb knows better than to do that, I hope!'

"'That is bad policy, Mr. Thumb,' concluded the other three unanimously. 'Your idea is against morality, against God, against yourself, against everybody. Our conscience will not permit us to steal.'

"'Oh, no, no!' returned Thumb angrily, 'you are greatly mistaken, my friends! Haven't you sense enough even to know how foolish you are to oppose my plan? Do you call my scheme bad policy,—to save your lives and mine?'

"'Ay, if that be your plan,' said the other four fingers, 'you can go your own way. As for us, we would rather starve and die than steal.' Then the four virtuous brothers drove Thumb in shame out of their community, and would have nothing more to do with him.

"So that is why," concluded old Julian, "we see our thumbs separated from the other four fingers. He was a thief; and the other four, who were honest, did not care to live with him. And it is because Little-Finger did not have enough to eat, that we see him lean and weak these days."

Note.

I know of no other Filipino accounts of why the thumb is separated from the rest of the fingers. As an interesting curiosity, however, I might cite a Bicol children's jingle of five lines which characterize briefly the five fingers (the thumb is the last described) :—

Maya-mayang saday Magayon na singsignan Daculang mangmang Atrevido Hababang tao

"Pretty little sparrow, Beautiful for a ring, Long but lazy fellow, Froward, insolent thing, Dumpy, dwarfish one."



TALE 76

WHY SNAILS CLIMB UP GRASS.

Narrated by Jose E. Tomeldan of Binalonan, Pangasinan.

Long ago, when the various kinds of animals dwelt together in a kind of community, a dalag (a kind of mud-fish), a dragonfly, a wasp, and a snail agreed to live together in a common house. They furthermore agreed to divide up the different household duties according to their power and skill. Accordingly, Dalag, since he was the biggest and strongest of all, was made the head of the house. He was also to provide food for his little companions. Dragon-Fly was made the messenger, because he was the swiftest of them all, but was too weak for any other kind of work. Wasp was made the house-guard because of his poisonous sting. Besides being guard, he was also to keep the house in repair, because he could carry bits of earth and other building-materials. Snail was made the cook, because he was too slow for any other duty except tending the house.

Early one day Dalag went out to look for food. He swam slowly here and there among the water-plants, when suddenly he saw something moving on the surface of the water. When he approached nearer, he saw that it was a big frog swimming helplessly among the duck-weeds. "This is a big piece of sweet food for us," thought Dalag, and without hesitation he seized the frog. When he had assured himself that it could not get away from him, he started to swim home. But, alas! he never reached his companions; for a sharp hook was inside the frog, and poor Dalag was caught fast. He tried hard to free himself, but in rain. Soon a fisherman came, and, putting Dalag in his basket, took him home and ate him.

In the mean time Dalag's three companions were anxiously waiting for him. When they realized that he was lost, Dragon-Fly was sent out to look for him. Before he went, Dragon-Fly spent a long time arranging his neck-tie. Then he flew away, turning his head in all directions to look for Dalag. At last he met Bolasi (a kind of fish whose lips always move in and out on the surface of the water), and he became very angry because he thought that Bolasi was laughing at his neck-tie. Dragon-Fly thought that his tie must be too loose, so he tightened it. Still Bolasi laughed every time he saw Dragon-Fly. Dragon-Fly kept drawing his tie tighter and tighter, until at last he cut his own head off, and that was the end of him.

Two days had now passed; still Dalag and Dragon-Fly were missing from home. By this time Wasp and Snail were very hungry. But Snail had the advantage over Wasp; for Snail could eat mud to pass away the time, while Wasp could not eat mud, but could only draw in his belt a little tighter. At last Wasp could no longer endure his hunger. His abdomen by this time had become very slender: so he flew forth in search of either Dalag or Dragon-Fly. While he was flying about, his hunger oppressed him so much, that he tightened his belt again and again, until he finally broke in two; and that was the end of Wasp.