King Mungo

Probably the mischief making propensities of the Jackal have never been better set forth than in this relation of certain happenings in the realm of King Mungo.

Probably the mischief making propensities of the Jackal have never been better set forth than in this relation of certain happenings in the realm of King Mungo.

A wise old baboon was King Mungo—not quite so wise, perhaps, as he imagined, which is often the case with many of us; but quite sensible enough to be a good ruler over his part of the forest.

He could swing himself from one branch to another, by his long arms, nearly as quickly as lightning, and could run so fast and far that no one could catch him.

At this time, King Mungo walked on two legs, and he was respected for this more than anything else. But you will soon see that this is the sad story of how he, and all the baboons after him, lost the power of walking erect, and had to go on all fours, like the rest of the animals.

Of all King Mungo’s subjects, the largest was an elephant, and the smallest one an ant. Besides these, his kingdom contained a dog, a cat, a mouse, a pool of water, a stick, and a fire lit among the brambles.

Of course, you have seen water put out fire, with a great fizz and splutter; but the strange thing about King Mungo’s fire was that however much water was thrown on the fire, the fire burned all the better for it. King Mungo said, “That’s because they are friends.”

And so it went on. The cat would never bite the mouse; and the cat and the dog played nicely together. The stick went quietly about its business without beating the dog; and the ant never even dreamed of giving the elephant a nip.

They all lived in peace and harmony together until one day a wretched little tailor, named Klit, came to the King to complain of the holes some one had made in his cloth.

You know how often it is, just when we are enjoying ourselves most, somebody comes and interferes, and spoils things. It was just like that in King Mungo’s kingdom. They were all as happy as they could be, when Klit, the tailor, brought the King a piece of cloth with six holes in it.

“I must have satisfaction, Your Majesty,” he said. “I thought the mouse had done this, but she blames the cat, and the cat says she saw my cloth in the dog’s mouth.

“But the dog says it was the stick; the stick declares it was the fire; and the fire says the water did it. The water denies it, and says the elephant tore the cloth; and the elephant lays the blame on the ant.”

King Mungo put on his most judicial air. “Well” he said.

“As long as they are all quarreling about it,” continued the tailor, “I suggest, Your Majesty, that you bring them together and try them, so that we may find out the truth.”

“Dear me! Quarreling? Why, such a thing has never happened before. Pray take a seat; I will talk it over with my Prime Minister, and see what can be done. Quarreling! Well!”

So Klit sat down cross-legged on the grass, and pulled out his thimble and thread.

“Here, here! Don’t darn the holes. What are you thinking about? If you darn them, they’ll say there never were any,” said the wise baboon.

“Whatever you do, don’t consult your Prime Minister,” retorted the tailor. “He is sure to give you some foolish advice.”

Now King Mungo was very much annoyed at this. He had great faith in the jackal, who was his Prime Minister; and besides, like other royal personages, he did not like to be addressed in a rude and familiar manner.

However, what the tailor said was true. The jackal was a mischievous fellow, and people who took his advice were generally sorry for it afterwards.

But King Mungo told his Prime Minister what had happened, and they consulted together for a long time. Then the King nodded his head, and the jackal went off to assemble his subjects.

So they all appeared before the King. There was the little brown mouse, the cat, the black curly dog, the stick, and next to the stick the fire was burning, and at the other side of the fire was the pool of water. Beyond the water stood the elephant, and next to him, on the top of a blade of grass, was a tiny black ant.

Then King Mungo began. “Klit,” he said, “hold up your cloth.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” and the tailor held up the cloth, and there were six round holes in it.

“Now tell me which of you has done this,” commanded the King.

“The mouse!” cried Klit.

“The cat!” squeaked the mouse.

“The dog!” said the cat.

“The stick!” growled the dog.

“The fire!” shouted the stick.

“The water!” hissed the fire.

“The elephant!” roared the water.

“The ant!” trumpeted the elephant.

“Your Majesty,” said the jackal, “you see, none of them will confess.”

“Silence!” commanded the King. “The best thing will be for them to punish each other. Klit, you accuse the mouse?”

“I do, Your Majesty,” answered the tailor.

“Then, cat, bite the mouse!”

And the cat bit the mouse as hard as she could.

“Where are you, mouse? Do you accuse the cat?”

“I certainly do,” squeaked the mouse.

“Here, dog, bite the cat!”

The dog growled and buried his teeth in the cat’s fur.

“Now, cat, you accuse the dog?”

“Your Majesty, I accuse the dog.”

“Stick, beat the dog!”

“It was the fire that did it,” said the stick in a sulky tone.

“Then, fire, burn the stick!

“Water, put out the fire!

“Elephant, drink the water!

“Ant, bite the elephant!” commanded the King.

“Just think of it!” cried the jackal, capering about with delight. “There will be no peace in this kingdom for many a long day.”

Now you see what a mischievous rascal the jackal was, for it turned out just as he wanted it to. From that time to this, the cat has always bitten the mouse; the dog the cat, and the ant the elephant; while fire has burned wood, and water quenched fire.

“Thanks to your advice, I have made a nice mess of it,” said the King to his Prime Minister.

But that was not the worst of it. As a punishment for his foolishness, King Mungo lost the power of walking on two legs, and had to go on all fours like the rest of the animals.

He lost his name of Mungo, too; and since then he and all of his race have been called just baboons.