1. How the whale got his throat In the sea once upon a time, oh, my best beloved, there was a whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish, and the garfish, and the crab, and the dab, and the place, and the dace, and the skate, and his mate, and the mackerel, and the pickerel, and the really truly twirly whirly eel. All the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth. So till at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a small, stewed fish. And he swam a little behind the whale's right ear, so as to be out of harm's way. Then the whale stood up on his tail and said, I'm hungry. And the small stewed fish said in a small stewed voice, noble and generous cetacean, have you ever tasted man? No, said the whale. What is it like? Nice, said the small stewed fish. Nice, but nubbly. Then fetch me some, said the whale, and he made the sea froth up with his tail. One at a time is enough, said the stewed fish. If you swim to latitude, 50 north, longitude 40 west, that is magic, you will find sitting on a raft in the middle of the sea, with nothing on but a pair of blue canvas britches, and a pair of suspenders, you must not forget the suspenders best beloved, and a jackknife, one shipwrecked mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you, is a man of infinite resource and sagacity. So the whale swam and swam to latitude, 50 north, longitude 40 west, as fast as he could swim, and on a raft in the middle of the sea, with nothing to wear except a pair of blue canvas britches, a pair of suspenders, you must particularly remember the suspenders best beloved, and a jackknife. He found one single solitary shipwrecked mariner trailing his toes in the water. He had his mummies leave to paddle, or else he would never have done it, because he was a man of infinite resource and sagacity. Then the whale opened his mouth back and back and back, to nearly touch his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked mariner, and the raft he was sitting on, and his blue canvas britches, and the suspenders, which you must not forget, and the jackknife. He swallowed them all down into his warm dark inside cupboards. Then he smacked his lips, so, and turned round three times on his tail. But as soon as the mariner, who was a man of infinite resource and sagacity, found himself truly inside the whale's warm dark inside cupboards. He stumped, and he jumped, and he thumped, and he bumped, and he pranced, and he danced, and he banged, and he clanged, and he hit, and he bit, and he leaped, and he creeped, and he prowled, and he howled, and he hopped, and he dropped, and he cried, and he sighed, and he crawled, and he bawled, and he stepped, and he leapt, and he danced hornpipes where he shouldn't, and the whale felt most unhappy indeed. Have you forgotten the suspenders? So he said to the stewed fish, this man is very nubbly, and besides, he is making me hiccup. What shall I do? Tell him to come out, said the stewed fish. So the whale called down his own throat to the shipwreck mariner.  I've got the hiccups. Nay, nay, said the mariner, not so, but for otherwise. Take me to my natal shore, and the white cliffs of Albion, and I'll think about it. And he began to dance, more than ever. You'd better take him home, said the stewed fish, to the whale. I ought to have warned you that he is a man of infinite resource and sagacity. So the whale swam, and swam, and swam, with both flippers and his tail, as hard as he could for the hiccups, and at last he saw the mariner's natal shore and the white cliffs of Albion, and he rushed halfway up the beach, and opened his mouth wide, and wide, and wide, and said, Change here for Winchester, Ashulot, Nashua, Keen, and Stations on the Fitchburg Road. And just as he said, Fitch, the mariner walked out of his mouth. But while the whale had been swimming, the mariner, who was indeed a person of infinite resource and sagacity, had taken his jackknife and cut up the raft into a little square grating, all running crisscross. And he had tied it firm with his suspenders. Now you know why you were not to forget the suspenders. And he dragged that grating good and tight into the whale's throat, and there it stuck. Then he recited the following shloka, which, as you have not heard it, I will now proceed to relate. By means of a grating, I have stopped your eating. For the mariner was also an hiberny an. And he stepped out on the shingle and went home to his mother, who had given him leave to trail his toes in the water. And he married and lived happily ever afterward, as so did the whale. But from that day on, the grating in his throat, which he could neither cough up nor swallow down, prevented him eating anything except very, very small fish.  A small stewed fish went and hit himself in the mud under the dorsals of the equator. He was afraid that the whale might be angry with him. The sailor took the jackknife home. He was wearing the blue canvas britches when he walked out on the shingle. The suspenders were left behind, you see, to tie the grating with. And that is the end of that tale. When the cabin portholes are dark and green because of the seas outside, when the ship goes wop with a wiggle between, and the steward falls into the soup-terine, and the trunks begin to slide. When mercy lies on the floor in a heap, and mummy tells you to let her sleep. And you aren't waked or washed or dressed. Why, then, you will know if you haven't guessed, you're fifteen-orth and forty-west. Descriptions of the pictures by the author. One. This is the picture of the whale swallowing the mariner with his infinite resource and sagacity, and the raft and the jackknife and his suspenders, which you must not forget. The buttony things are the mariner's suspenders, and you can see the knife close by them. He is sitting on the raft, but it's tilted up sideways, so you don't see much of it. The whitey thing by the mariner's left hand is a piece of wood that he was trying to row the raft with when the whale came along. A piece of wood is called the jaws of a gaff. The mariner left it outside when he went in. The whale's name was Smiler, and the mariner was called Mr. Henry Albert Bivins AB. The little stewed fish is hiding under the whale's tummy, or else I would have drawn him.  You must never forget the suspenders. Two. Here is the whale looking for the little stewed fish who's hiding under the dorsals of the Equator. The little stewed fish's name was Bingle. He is hiding among the roots of the big seaweed that grows in front of the doors of the Equator. I've drawn the doors of the Equator, they are shut. They are always kept shut because a door ought always to be kept shut. The ropey thing right across is the Equator itself. And the things that look like rocks are the two giants Moir and Coir that keep the Equator in order. They drew the shadow pictures on the doors of the Equator and they carved all those twisty fishes under the doors. The beaky fish are called big dolphins and the other fish with the queer heads are called hammer-headed sharks. The whale never found the little stewed fish till he got over his temper and then they became good friends again. End of Chapter 1. Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Chapter 2 of Just So Stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information on a volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org. Just So Stories by Rajad Kippling. How the camel got his hump? Now, this is the next tale and it tells how the camel got his big hump. In the beginning of years when the world was so new and all and the animals were just beginning to work for man, there was a camel and he lived in the middle of a howling desert because he did not want to work and besides he was a howler himself. So he ate sticks and thorns and tamarisks and milkweed and prickles. Most scruciating idol. And when anybody spoke to him, he said, hump, just hump and no more.  Hump, said the camel, and the horse went away and told the man.  Hump, said the camel, and the dog went away and told the man.  Hump, said the camel, and the ox went away and told the man. At the end of the day the man called the horse and the dog and the ox together and said, three, oh, three, I'm very sorry for you with the world so new and all, but that hump thing in the desert can't work. Or he would have been here by now, so I'm going to leave him alone and you must work double time to make up for it. That made the three very angry with the world so new and all. They held a palaver and an indaba and a punchiette and a powwow on the edge of the desert, and the camel came chewing on milkweed, most cruciating idle, and laughed at them. Then he said, Hump, and went away again. Presently they came along, the gin in charge of all deserts, rolling in a cloud of dust. A gin's always travelled that way because it is magic, and he stopped to palaver and powwow with the three. Gin of all deserts, said the horse. Is it right for anyone to be idle with the world so new and all? Certainly not, said the gin. Well, said the horse, there's a thing in the middle of your howling desert, and he's a howler himself, with a long neck and long legs, and he hasn't done a stroke of work since Monday morning. He won't trot. Phew! said the gin, whistling. That's my camel for all the gold and arabia. What does he say about it? He says, Hump, said the dog, and he won't fetch and carry. Does he say anything else? Only Hump, and he won't plow, said the ox. Very good, said the gin. I'll hump him if you will kindly wait him in it. The gin rolled himself up in his dusk cloak and took a bearing across the desert and found the camel, most scruciating the idle, looking at his own reflection in a pool of water. My long and bubbling friend, said the gin, what's this I hear of your doing no work with the world so new and all? Hump, said the camel. The gin sat down with his gin in his hand and began to think a great magic, while the camel looked at his own reflection in the pool of water. You've given the three extra work since Monday morning or an account of your scruciating idleness, said the gin, and went on thinking magics with his gin in his hand. Hump, said the camel. I shouldn't say that again if I were you, said the gin. You might say it once too often. Bubbles, I want you to work. And the camel said, hump again. But the sooner had he said it, then he saw his back, that he was so proud of, puffing up and puffing up into a great, big, lolliping hump. Do you see that, said the gin, that's your very own hump that you brought upon your very own self by not working. Today is Thursday and you've done no work since Monday when the work began. Now you are going to work. How can I, said the camel, with this hump from my back? That's made a purpose, said the gin, all because you missed those three days. You will be able to work now for three days without eating because you can live on your hump. And don't you ever say I never did anything for you. Come out of the desert and go to the three and behave. Hump for yourself. And the camel humped himself, humpened all, and went away to join the three. And from that day to this, the camel always wears a hump. No, we call it a hump now, not to hurt his feelings. But he has never yet caught up with the three days that he missed at the beginning of the world. And he has never yet learned how to behave. The camel's hump is an ugly lump, which well you may see at the zoo. But uglier yet is the hump we get, from having too little to do. Kiddies and grown-ups too, woo-woo. If we haven't enough to do, woo-woo, we get the hump, the camellious hump, the hump that is black and blue. We climb at a bed with a frowsly head, and a snarly, yolly voice. We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl at our bath and our boots and our toys. And there ought to be a corner for me. And I know there is one for you when we get the hump, the camellious hump, the hump that is black and blue.  Then you will find that the sun and the wind, and the gin of the garden, too, have lifted the hump, the horrible hump, the hump that is black and blue. I get it as well as you, woo-woo. If I haven't enough to do, woo-woo, we all get the hump, the camellious hump. Kiddies and grown-ups too. Descriptions of the pictures by the author. 1. This is the picture of the gin making the beginnings of the magic that brought the hump to the camel. First he drew a line in the air with his finger, and it became solid. And then he made a cloud, and then he made an egg. You can see them both at the bottom of the picture. And then there was a magic pumpkin that turned into a big white flame. Then the gin took his magic fan and fanned that flame till the flame turned into a magic by itself. It was a good magic, and a very kind magic really, though it had to give the camel a hump because the camel was lazy. The gin in charge of all deserts was one of the nicest of the gins, so he would never do anything really unkind. 2. Here is the picture of the gin in charge of all deserts, guiding the magic with his magic fan. Camel is eating a twig of acacia, and he has just finished saying hump once too often. The gin told him he would. And so the hump is coming. The long, tauly thing growing out of the thing like an onion is the magic, and you can see the hump on its shoulder. The hump fits on the flat part of the camel's back. The camel is too busy looking at his own beautiful self in the pool of water to know what is going to happen to him. 3. Underneath the truly picture is a picture of the world so new and all. There are two smoky volcanoes in it, some other mountains and some stones and a lake, and a black island and a twisty river, and lots of other things, as well as a Noah's Ark. I couldn't draw all the deserts that the gin was in charge of, so I only drew one. But it is a most deserty desert. End of How The Camel Got His Hump Recording by Tim Bulcley of BigBible.org Chapter 3 of Just So Stories This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tim Bulcley of BigBible.org Just So Stories by Rajad Kipling How The Rhinoceros Got His Skin Once upon a time on an uninhabited island on the shores of the Red Sea, there lived a Parsi, from whose hat the rays of the sun were reflected in more than oriental splendor. And the Parsi lived by the Red Sea with nothing but his hat and his knife and a cooking stove of the kind that you must particularly never touch. And one day he took flour and water and currants and plums and sugar and things, and made himself one cake, which was two feet across and three feet thick. It was indeed a superior commestible, that's magic. And he put on stove because he was allowed to cook on the stove, and he baked it and he baked it till it was all done brown and smelt most sentimental. But just as he was going to eat it, they came down to the beach from the altogether uninhabited interior, one Rhinoceros, with a horn on his nose, two piggy eyes, and few manors. In those days the Rhinoceros' skin fit him quite tight. There were no wrinkles in it anywhere. He looked exactly like a Noah's Ark Rhinoceros, but of course much bigger. All the same he had no manors then and he has no manors now, and he never will have any manors. He said, Ow! And the Parsi left that cake and climbed to the top of a palm tree with nothing on but his hat, from which the rays of the sun were always reflected in more than Oriental splendour. And the Rhinoceros upset the oil stove with his nose, and the cake rolled on the sand, and he spiked that cake on the horn of his nose and he ate it, and he went away waving his tail to the desolate and exclusively uninhabited interior, which abuts on the islands of Mazandaran, Sokotra, and the promontries of the larger equinox. Then the Parsi came down from his palm tree and put the stove on its legs and recited the following sloka, which, as you have not heard, I will now proceed to relate. Then that takes cakes, which the Parsi man bakes, makes dreadful mistakes. And there was a great deal more in that than you would think, because five weeks later there was a heat wave in the Red Sea, and everybody took off all the clothes they had. The Parsi took off his hat, but the Rhinoceros took off his skin and carried it over his shoulder as he came down to the beach to bathe. In those days it buttoned underneath with three buttons and looked like a waterproof. He said nothing whatever about the Parsi's cake, because he had eaten it all, and he never had any manners, then since or hence forward. He waddled straight into the water and blew bubbles through his nose, leaving his skin on the beach. Presently the Parsi came by and found the skin, and he smiled, one smile that ran all round his face two times. Then he danced three times round the skin and rubbed his hands. Then he went to his camp and filled his hat with cake-crumbs, for the Parsi never ate anything but cake, and he never swept out his camp.  Then he climbed to the top of his palm tree and waited for the Rhinoceros to come out of the water and put it on. And the Rhinoceros did. He buttoned it up with the three buttons, and it tickled like cake-crumbs in bed. Then he wanted to scratch, but that made it worse. Then he lay down on the sands and rolled and rolled and rolled, and every time he rolled, the cake-crumbs tickled him worse and worse and worse. Then he ran to the palm tree and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed himself against it. He rubbed so much and so hard that he rubbed his skin to a great fold over his shoulders, and another fold underneath, where the buttons used to be, but he rubbed the buttons off, and he rubbed some more folds over his legs, and it spoiled his temper, but it didn't make the least difference to the cake-crumbs. They were inside his skin, and they tickled. So he went home very angry indeed, and horribly scratchy, and from that day to this every Rhinoceros has great folds in his skin at a very bad temper, all on account of the cake-crumbs inside. But the Parsi came down from his palm tree wearing his hat, from which the rays of the sun were reflected in more than Oriental splendor, packed up his cooking-stove, and went away in the direction of Orotavo, amygdala, and the upper meadows of Antanarivo, and the marshes of Sonaput. This uninhabited island is off Cape Gaddafui, by the beaches of Sokotra, and the pink Arabian Sea. But it's hot, too hot from Suez for the likes of you and me ever to go in a P&O, and call on the cake-parsi. Descriptions of the pictures by the author. 1. This is the picture of the Parsi beginning to eat his cake on the uninhabited island in the Red Sea, on a very hot day, and of the Rhinoceros coming down from the altogether uninhabited interior, which, as you can truthfully see, is all rocky. The Rhinoceros' skin is quite smooth, and the three buttons that button it up are underneath so you can't see them. The squiggly things on the Parsi's hat and the rays of the sun reflected in more than Oriental splendor, because if I had drawn real rays, they would have filled up all the picture. The cake has currants in it, and the wheel-thing lying on the sand in front belonged to one of Pharaoh's chariots when he tried to cross the Red Sea. The Parsi found it, and kept it to play with. The Parsi's name was Pestungi-Bamongi, and the Rhinoceros was called Strokes, because he breathed through his mouth instead of his nose. I wouldn't ask anything about the cooking stove if I were you. 2. This is the Parsi Pestungi-Bamongi sitting in his palm tree, and watching the Rhinoceros' Strokes bathing near the beach of the altogether uninhabited island after Strokes had taken off his skin. The Parsi has put the cake-crumbs into the skin, and he is smiling to think how they will tickle Strokes when Strokes puts it on again. The skin is just under the rocks below the palm tree in a cool place. That is why you can't see it. The Parsi is wearing a new, more than oriental-spender hat of the sort that Parsi's wear, and he has a knife in his hand to cut his name on palm trees. The black things on the islands out at sea are bits of ships that got wrecked going down the Red Sea, but all the passengers were saved and went home. The black thing in the water, close to the shore, is not a wreck at all. It is Strokes the Rhinoceros bathing without his skin. He was just as black underneath his skin as he was outside. I wouldn't ask anything about the cooking stove if I were you. End of How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Chapter 4 of the Just So Stories This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling How the Leopard Got His Spots In the days when everybody started fair best beloved, the Leopard lived in a place called the High Velt. Remember, it wasn't the Low Velt or the Bush Velt or the Sour Velt, but the exclusively bare, hot, shiny High Velt. Where there was sand and sandy colored rock, and exclusively tufts of sandy yellowish grass. The giraffe and the zebra and the eland and the kudu and the hearty beast lived there, and they were exclusively sandy yellowish-brownish all over. But the Leopard, he was the exclusivist, sandiest yellowish-brownist of them all. A grayish-yellowish, catty-shaped kind of beast. And he matched the exclusively yellowish-grayish-brownish color of the High Velt to one hair. This was very bad for the giraffe and the zebra and the rest of them. For he would lie down by a exclusively yellowish-grayish-brownish stone or clump of grass. And when the giraffe or the zebra or the eland or the kudu or the bushbuck or the bontibuck came by, he would surprise them. Out of their jumpsome lives he would indeed. And also there was an Ethiopian with bows and arrows. A exclusively grayish-brownish-yellowish man he was then, who lived on the High Velt with the Leopard. And the two used to hunt together, the Ethiopian with his bows and arrows and the Leopard exclusively with his teeth and claws, till the giraffe and the eland and the kudu and the quagga and all the rest of them didn't know which way to jump best below it they didn't indeed. After a long time, things lived for ever so long in those days, they learnt to avoid anything that looked like a leopard or an Ethiopian and, bit by bit, the giraffe began it because his legs were the longest, they went away from the High Velt. They scuttled for days and days and days till they came to a great forest, exclusively full of trees and bushes and stripy, speckly, patchy-blatchy shadows, and there they hid. And after another long time, wop with standing half in the shade and half out of it, and wop with the slithery, slidey shadows of the trees falling on them, the giraffe grew blotchy and the zebra grew stripy and the eland and the kudu grew darker with little wavy gray lines on their backs like bark on a tree trunk. And so, though you could hear them and smell them, you could very seldom see them, and then only when you knew precisely where to look. They had a beautiful time in the exclusively speckly-speckly shadows of the forest, while the leopard and Ethiopian ran about over the exclusively grayish-yellowish-reddish High Velt outside, wondering where all their breakfasts and their dinners and their teas had gone. At last, they were so hungry that they ate rats and beetles and rock rabbits, the leopard and the Ethiopian, and then they had the big tummy-egg, both together, and then they met Bavian, the dog-headed barking baboon, who is quite the wisest animal in all South Africa. Said Bavian, and it was a very hot day, where has all the game gone? And Bavian winked, he knew. Said the Ethiopian to Bavian, can you tell me the precise habitat of the Aboriginal fauna? That meant just the same thing, but the Ethiopian always used long words, he was a grown-up, and Bavian winked, he knew. Then said Bavian, the game has gone into other spots, and my advice to you, leopard, is to go into other spots as soon as you can. And the Ethiopian said, that's all very fine, but I wish to know whether the Aboriginal fauna has migrated. Then said Bavian, the Aboriginal fauna has joined the Aboriginal flora, because it was high time for a change, and my advice to you Ethiopian is to change as soon as you can. That puzzled the leopard and the Ethiopian, but they set off to look for the Aboriginal flora. And presently, after ever so many days, they saw a great high tall forest, full of tree trunks, all exclusively speckled and sprottled and spottled, dotted and dashed and slashed, and hatched and cross-hatched with shadows. Say that quickly aloud, and you'll see how very shadowy the forest must have been.  I don't know, said the Ethiopian, but it ought to be the Aboriginal flora, I can smell giraffe, and I can hear giraffe, but I can't see giraffe. And that's curious, said the leopard. I suppose it's because we have just coming out of the sunshine. I can smell zebra, I can hear zebra, but I can't see zebra. Wait a bit, said the Ethiopian, it's a long time since we've hunted them, perhaps we've forgotten what they were like. Fiddle, said the leopard, I remember them perfectly on the high belt, especially their marrow bones. Giraffe is about 17 feet high, of exclusively fulverous golden yellow from head to heel, and zebra is about four and a half feet high of a exclusively gray, foreign color from head to heel. Hmm, said the Ethiopian, looking into the speckly, spickly shadows of the Aboriginal flora forest. Then they ought to show up in this dark place like ripe bananas in a smokehouse, but they didn't. The leopard and the Ethiopian hunted all day, and though they could smell them and hear them, they never saw one of them.  So they waited till dark, and then leopard heard something breathing sniffily in the starlight that fell all stripy through the branches, and he jumped at the noise, and it smelt like zebra, and it felt like zebra, and when he knocked it down it kicked like zebra, but he couldn't see it. So he said, be quiet, are you person without any form?  Presently he heard a grunt and a crash and a scramble, and the Ethiopian called out, I've got a thing that I can't see, it smells like giraffe, and it kicks like giraffe, but it hasn't any form. Don't you trust it, said the leopard, sit on its head till morning, same as me, they haven't any form, any of them.   But it is covered all over with chestnut blotches. What have you at your end of the table, brother?  But it is covered all over with black and purple stripes. What in the world have you been doing to yourself, zebra? Don't you know that if you were on the high belt, I could see you ten miles off, and you haven't any form? Yes, said the zebra, but this isn't the high belt, can't you see? I can now, said the leopard, but I couldn't all yesterday. How is it done? Let us up, said the zebra, and we will show you. They let the zebra and the giraffe get up, and the zebra moved away to some little thorn bushes where the sunlight fell all stripy, and the giraffe moved off to some tallish trees where the shadows fell all blotchy. Now watch, said the zebra and the giraffe. This is the way it's done. One, two, three, and where's your breakfast? Leopard stared, and Ethiopians stared, but all they could see were stripy shadows and blotch shadows in the forest, and never a sign of zebra and giraffe. They had just walked off and hidden themselves in the shadowy forests. Hi, hi, said the Ethiopian. That's a trick worth learning. Take a lesson by it, Leopard. You show up in this dark place like a bar of soap in a coal scuttle. How, how, said the leopard, would it surprise you very much to know that you show up in this dark place like a mustard plaster on a sack of coals? Well, calling names won't catch dinner, said the Ethiopian. The long and little of it is that we don't match our backgrounds. I'm going to take Bavian's advice. He told me I ought to change, and as I've nothing to change except my skin, I'm going to change that. What, too? Said the leopard, tremendously excited. To a nice working, blackish-brownish color, with a little purple in it and touches of slaty blue. That will be the very thing for hiding in hollows and behind trees. So he changed his skin, then and there. And the leopard was more excited than ever. He had never seen a man change his skin before. But what about me? He said when the Ethiopian had worked his last little finger into his fine new black skin. You take Bavian's advice, too. He told you to go into spots. So I did, said the leopard. I went into other spots as fast as I could. I went into this spot with you, and a lot of good it has done me. Oh! said the Ethiopian. Bavian didn't mean spots in South Africa. He meant spots on your skin. What's the use of that? said the leopard. Think of giraffe, said the Ethiopian. Or, if you prefer stripes, think of zebra. They find their spots and stripes give them, per feet, satisfaction. Um, said the leopard. I wouldn't look like zebra, not forever so. Well, make up your mind, said the Ethiopian, because I hate to go hunting without you, but I must if you insist on looking like a sunflower against a tarred fence. Take spots then, said the leopard, but don't make them too vulgar big. I wouldn't look like giraffe, not forever so. I'll make them with the tips of my fingers, said the Ethiopian. There's plenty of black left on my skin still. Stand over. Then the Ethiopian put his five fingers close together. There was plenty of black left on his new skin still, and he pressed them all over the leopard, and wherever the five fingers touched, they left five little black marks all close together. You can see them on any leopard skin you like, best beloved. Sometimes the fingers slipped and the marks got a little blurred, but if you look closely at any leopard now, you will see that there are always five spots of five fat black fingertips. Now you are a beauty, said the Ethiopian. You can lie out on the bare ground and look like a heap of pebbles.  You can lie out on a leafy branch and look like sunshine sifting through the leaves. And you can lie right across the centre of a path and look like nothing in particular. Think of that and purr. But if I'm all this, said the leopard, why didn't you go spotty too? Oh, plain black's best for a nigger, said the Ethiopian. Now come along and we'll see if we can't get even with Mr. 1, 2, 3. Where's your breakfast? So they went away and lived happily ever afterward, best beloved. That is all. Oh, now and then you'll hear grown-ups say, can the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard his spots? I don't think even grown-ups would keep on saying such silly thing if the leopard and the Ethiopian hadn't done it once, do you? But they will never do it again, best beloved. They are quite contented as they are. I am the most wise Bavian. Saying in the most wise tones, let us melt into the landscape, just us two by our loans. People can come in a carriage calling. But mummy is there. Yes, I can go if you take me. Nurse says she don't care. Let's go up to the pigsties and sit on the farmyard rails. Let's say things to the bunnies and watch them skitter their tails. Let's owe anything, daddy, so long as it's you and me. And going truly exploring and not being in till tea. Here's your boots. I've brought them. And here's your cap and stick. And here's your pipe and tobacco. Oh, come along out of it quick. Descriptions of the pictures by the author. One. This is wise Bavian, the dog-headed baboon, who is quite the wisest animal in all South Africa.  I have written his name on his belt and on his shoulder, and on the thing he is sitting on. I have written it in what is not called Coptic and hieroglyphic, and Cuneiformic and Bengallic, and Burmic and Hebrick, all because he is so wise. He is not beautiful, but he is very wise, and I should like to paint him with paintbox colours, but I'm not allowed. The umbrella-ish thing about his head is his conventional mane. Two. This is the picture of the leopard and the Ethiopian after they had taken wise Bavian's advice, and the leopard had gone into other spots, and the Ethiopian had changed his skin. The Ethiopian was really a negro, so his name was Sambo. The leopard was called Spots, and he has been called Spots ever since. They are out hunting in the spickly-speckly forest, and they are looking for Mr. 123 Where's your breakfast? If you look a little, you will see Mr. 123 not far away. The Ethiopian is hidden behind a splotchy blotchy tree, because it matches his skin, and the leopard is lying beside a spickly-speckly bank of stones, because it matches his spots. Mr. 123 Where's your breakfast? Is standing up, eating leaves from a tall tree. This is really a puzzle picture, like Find the Cat. End of How the Leopard Got His Spots Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Chapter 5 of Just So Stories This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling Chapter 5 The Elephant's Child In the high and far off times, the elephant, her best beloved, had no trunk. He had only a blackish bulgy nose as big as a boot, that he could wriggle about from side to side, but he couldn't pick up things with it.  That means he asked ever so many questions, and he lived in Africa, and he filled all Africa with his satiable kirtiocities. He asked his tall aunt, the ostrich, why her tail feathers grew just so, and his tall aunt, the ostrich, spanked him with a hard, hard claw. He asked his tall uncle, the giraffe, what made his skin spotty, and his tall uncle, the giraffe, spanked him with his hard, hard hoof.  He asked his broad aunt, the hippopotamus, why her eyes were red, and his broad aunt, the hippopotamus, spanked him with her broad, broad hoof.   He asked questions about everything that he saw, or heard, or felt, or smelt, or touched. And all his uncles and his aunts spanked him.  One fine morning in the middle of the procession of the equinoxes, this satiable elephant's child asked a new, fine question that he had never asked before. He asked, what does the crocodile have for dinner? Then everybody said, hush! In such a loud and dreadful tone. And they spanked him immediately and directly, without stopping for a long time. Fine by, when that was finished, he came upon the collo collo bird, sitting in the middle of a wait-a-bit thorn-bush. And he said, my father has spanked me, and my mother has spanked me. All my aunts and uncles have spanked me for my satiable kirtiocity. And I still want to know what the crocodile has for dinner. Then the collo collo bird said with a mournful cry, Go to the banks of the great grey, green, greasy, limpopo river, all set about with fever trees, and find out. That very next morning, when there was nothing left of the equinoxes because the procession had preceded according to precedent, this satiable elephant's child took a hundred pounds of bananas, the little short red kind, and a hundred pounds of sugarcane, the long purple kind, and seventeen melons, the greeny crackly kind, and said to all his dear families, goodbye. I am going to the great grey, green, greasy, limpopo river, all set about with fever trees, to find out what the crocodile has for dinner. And they all spanked him once more for luck, though he asked them most politely to stop. Then he went away, a little warm but not at all astonished, eating melons and throwing the rind about because he could not pick it up. He went from Grahamstown to Kimberley, and from Kimberley to Carmas Country, and from Carmas Country he went east by north, eating melons all the time, till at last he came to the banks of the great grey, green, greasy, limpopo river, all set about with fever trees, precisely as the collo collo bird had said. Now you must know and understand, our best beloved, that till that very week, and day, and hour, and minute, this satiable elephant's child had never seen a crocodile, and did not know what one was like. He was all his satiable curtiosity. The first thing that he found was a bi-coloured python rock snake, curled round a rock. Excuse me, said the elephant's child most politely, but have you seen such a thing as a crocodile in these promiscuous parts? Have I seen a crocodile? said the bi-coloured python rock snake in a voice of dreadful scorn. What will you ask me next? Excuse me, said the elephant's child, but could you kindly tell me what he has for dinner? Then the bi-coloured python rock snake uncorreled himself very quickly from the rock, and spanked the elephant's child with his scalesome flailsome tail. That is odd, said the elephant's child, because my father and my mother, and my uncle and my aunt, not to mention my other aunt, the hippopotamus, and my other uncle, the baboon, have all spanked me for my satiable curtiosity. And I suppose this is the same thing. So he said goodbye very politely to the bi-coloured python rock snake, and helped him to coil up on the rock again, and went on, a little warm but not at all astonished, eating melons, and throwing the rind about because he could not pick it up. Till he trod on what he thought was a log of wood at the very edge of the great grey-green greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever trees. But it was really the crocodile, a best beloved, and the crocodile winked one eye, like this. Excuse me, said the elephant's child most politely, but do you happen to have seen a crocodile in these promiscuous parts? Then the crocodile winked the other eye, and lifted half his tail out of the mud. And the elephant's child stepped back most politely, because he did not wish to be spanked again. Come here, there, little one, said the crocodile. Why do you ask such things?  Come here, there, little one, said the crocodile, for I am the crocodile, and he wept crocodile tears to show that it was true. Then the elephant's child grew all breathless and panted, and kneeled down on the bank and said, You are the very person I've been looking for all these long days. Will you please tell me what you have for dinner? Come here, there, little one, said the crocodile, and I'll whisper.  I think, said the crocodile, and he said it between his teeth, like this, I think, today, I will begin with elephant's child. At this, her best beloved, the elephant's child was much annoyed, and he said, speaking through his nose, like this, There go, your heretic bee. Then the bi-coloured python rock-snake scuffled down from the bank and said, My young friend, if you do not now immediately and instantly, pull as hard as ever you can.  This is the way bi-coloured python rock-snakes always talk.  Then the elephant's child felt his legs slipping, and he said through his nose, which was now nearly five feet long, this is too much for me. Then the bi-coloured python-rock snake came down from the bank, and knotted himself in a double-cloth hitch round the elephant's child's hind legs, and said, rash and inexperienced traveller, we will now seriously devote ourselves to a little high tension, because if we do not, it is my impression that yonder self-propelling man of war, with the armour-plated upper deck, and by this, so best beloved, he meant the crocodile, will permanently vitiate your future career. This is the way all bi-coloured python-rock snakes always talk. So he pulled, and the elephant's child pulled, and the crocodile pulled, but the elephant's child and the bi-coloured python-rock snake pulled hardest, and at last the crocodile let go of the elephant's child's nose with a plop that you could hear all up and down the limp popo. Then the elephant's child sat down, most hard and sudden, but first he was careful to say, thank you, to the bi-coloured python-rock snake, and next he was kind to his poor pulled nose, and wrapped it up in cool banana leaves, and hung it in the great grey-green greasy limp popo to cool. What are you doing that for? said the bi-coloured python-rock snake. Excuse me, said the elephant's child, but by those is badly out of shape, and I'm waiting for it to shrink. Then you will have to wait a long time, said the bi-coloured python-rock snake. Some people do not know what is good for them. The elephant's child sat there for three days, waiting for his nose to shrink, but it never grew any shorter, and besides it made him squint. For, oh best beloved, you will see and understand that the crocodile had pulled it out into a really truly trunk, same as all elephants have today. At the end of the third day, a fly came and stung him on the shoulder, and before he knew what he was doing, he lifted up his trunk and hit that fly dead with the end of it. Vantage number one, said the bi-coloured python-rock snake, you couldn't have done that with a mere smear-nose. Try and eat a little now. Before he thought what he was doing, the elephant's child put out his trunk and plucked a large bundle of grass, dusted it cleanly against his forelegs, and stuffed it into his own mouth. Vantage number two, said the bi-coloured python-rock snake, you couldn't have done that with a mere smear-nose. Don't you think the sun is very hot here? It is, said the elephant's child, and before he thought what he was doing, he shlooped up a shloop of mud from the banks of the great grey-green greasy limpo-po, and slapped it on his head, where it made a cool, shloopy, sloshy mud-cap, all trickily behind his ears. Vantage number three, said the bi-coloured python-rock snake, you couldn't have done that with a mere smear-nose. How do you feel about being spanked again? This goes me, said the elephant's child, but I should not like it at all. How would you like to spank somebody? said the bi-coloured python-rock snake. I should like it very much indeed, said the elephant's child. Well, said the bi-coloured python-rock snake, you will find that new nose of yours very useful to spank people with. Thank you, said the elephant's child, I'll remember that, and now I think I'll go home to all my dear families and try. So the elephant's child went home across Africa, frisking and whisking his trunk. When he wanted fruit to eat, he pulled fruit down from a tree, instead of waiting for it to fall, as he used to do. When he wanted grass, he plucked grass up from the ground, instead of going on his knees, as he used to do. When flies bit him, he broke off the branch of a tree, and used it as a fly-wisk. And he made himself a new cool, slushy-squashy mud-cap, whenever the sun was hot. When he felt lonely walking through Africa, he sang to himself down his trunk, and the noise was louder than several brass bands. He went, especially out of his way, to find a broad hippopotamus, though she was no relation of his, and he spanked her very hard, to make sure that the bi-coloured python-rock snake had spoken the truth about his new trunk. The rest of the time, he picked up the melon-rinds he had dropped on his way to the limpo-po, for he was a tidy-packy-derm. One dark evening, he came back to all his dear families, and he coiled up his trunk and said, How do you do? They were very glad to see him, and immediately said, Come here, and be spanked for your satiable curiosity. Poo! said the elephant's child. I don't think you peoples know anything about spanking, but I do, and I'll show you.  Oh, bananas! said they. Where did you learn that trick? And what have you done to your nose? I got a new one from the crocodile on the banks of the great grey-green greasy limpo-po river, said the elephant's child. I asked him what he had for dinner, and he gave me this to keep. It looks very ugly, said his hairy uncle the baboon. It does, said the elephant's child, but it's very useful.  Then that bad elephant's child spanked all his dear families for a long time, till they were very warm, and greatly astonished. He pulled out his tall, ostrich-aunt's tail feathers, and he caught his tall uncle the giraffe by the hind leg, and dragged him through a thorn-bush. And he shouted at his broad-aunt the hippopotamus, and blew bubbles into her ear when she was sleeping in the water after meals. But he never let anyone touch the collocollo bird. At last things grew so exciting that his dear families went off one by one in a hurry to the banks of the great grey-green greasy limpo-po river, all set about with fever-trees, to borrow new noses from the crocodile. When they came back, nobody spanked anybody any more, and ever since that day, O best beloved, all the elephants you will ever see, besides all those that you won't, have trunks precisely, like the trunk of the satiable elephant's child. I keep six honest-serving men, they taught me all I knew, their names are what, and where, and when, and how, and why, and who. I send them over land and sea, I send them east and west. But after they have worked for me, I give them all a rest. I let them rest from nine till five, for I am busy then, as well as breakfast, lunch, and tea, for they are hungry men, but different folk have different views, I know a person small. She keeps ten million serving men, who get no rest at all. She sends them abroad on her own affairs. From the second she opens her eyes. One million hows, two million wares, and seven million whys. Descriptions of the pictures by the author. One. This is the elephant's child having his nose pulled by the crocodile. He is much surprised, and astonished, and hurt. And he is talking through his nose and saying, Let go, you are hurting me. He is pulling very hard, and so is the crocodile, but the by-coloured python-rock snake is hurrying through the water to help the elephant's child. All that black stuff is the banks of the great grey-green-greasy Limpopo river, but I am not allowed to paint these pictures. And the botly tree with the twisty roots and the eight leaves is one of the fever trees that grow there. Underneath the truly picture are shadows of African animals walking into an African ark. There are two lions, two ostriches, two oxen, two camels, two sheep, and two other things that look like rats, but I think they are rock rabbits. They don't mean anything. I put them in because I thought they looked pretty, and they would look very fine if I were allowed to paint them. 2. This is just a picture of the elephant's child going to pull bananas off a banana tree after he had got his fine new long trunk. I don't think it's a very nice picture, but I couldn't make it any better because elephants and bananas are hard to draw. The streaky things behind the elephant's child mean squaggy marshy country somewhere in Africa. The elephant's child made most of his mud cakes out of the mud that he found there. I think it would look better if you painted the banana tree green and the elephant's child red. End of The Elephant's Child Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org The Just So Stories by Roger Kipling This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information on a volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Just So Stories by Roger Kipling Read by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Chapter 6 The Sing Song of Old Man Kangaroo Not always was the kangaroo as now we do behold him, but a different animal with four short legs. He was gray and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate. He danced on outcrop in the middle of Australia, and he went to the little guard and quaw. He went to and quaw at six before breakfast, saying, Make be different from all other animals by five this afternoon. Up jumped and quaw from his seat on the sand flat, and shouted, Go away! He was gray and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate. He danced on a rock ledge in the middle of Australia, and he went to the middle guard and quaw. He went to and quaw at eight after breakfast, saying, Make be different from all other animals. Make be also wonderfully popular by five this afternoon. Up jumped and quaw from his burrow in the spinifex, and shouted, Go away! He was gray and he was woolly, and his pride was inordinate. He danced on a sand bank in the middle of Australia, and he went to the big guard and quaw. He went to and quaw at ten before dinner time, saying, Make be different from all other animals. Make be popular and wonderfully run after by five this afternoon. Up jumped and quaw from his bath in the salt pan, and shouted, Yes, I will. Quaw called dingo, yellow dog dingo, always hungry, dusty in the sunshine, and showed him kangaroo. Quaw said, Dingo, wake up, dingo. Do you see that gentleman dancing on an ash pit? He wants to be popular and very truly run after. Dingo, make him so. Up jumped dingo, yellow dog dingo, and said, What, that cat rabbit? Off ran dingo, yellow dog dingo, always hungry, grinning like a coal scuttle, ran after kangaroo.  This, I beloved of mine, ends the first part of the tale. He ran through the desert, he ran through the mountains, he ran through the salt pans, he ran through the reed beds, he ran through the blue gums, he ran through the spinifex. He ran till his front legs ached. He had two. Still ran dingo, yellow dog dingo, always hungry, grinning like a rat trap, never getting nearer, never getting farther, ran after kangaroo. He had two. Still ran kangaroo, old man kangaroo, he ran through the tea trees, he ran through the mulga, he ran through the long grass, he ran through the short grass, he ran through the tropics of capricorn and cancer, he ran till his hind legs ached. He had two. Still ran dingo, yellow dog dingo, hungrier and hungrier, grinning like a horse collar, never getting nearer, never getting farther. And they came to the Walgong River. Now there wasn't any bridge and there wasn't any ferry boat, and kangaroo didn't know how to get over. So he stood on his legs and hopped. He had two. He hopped through the flinders, he hopped through the cinders, he hopped through the deserts in the middle of Australia, he hopped like a kangaroo. First he hopped one yard, then he hopped three yards, then he hopped five yards, his legs growing stronger, his legs growing longer. He hadn't any time for rest or refreshment, and he wanted them very much. So ran dingo, yellow dog dingo, very much bewildered, very much hungry, and wondering what in the world or out of it made old man kangaroo hop. For he hopped like a cricket, like a pea in a saucepan, or a new rubber ball on an estuary floor. He had two. He tucked up his front legs, he hopped on his hind legs, he stuck out his tail for a balance weight behind him, and he hopped through the darling downs. He had two. Still ran dingo, tired dog dingo, hungrier and hungrier, very much bewildered, wondering when in the world or out of it would old man kangaroo stop. Then came Quang from his bath in the saucepans, and said, It's five o'clock. Downs had dingo, poor dog dingo, always hungry, dusky in the sunshine, hung out his tongue and howled. Downs had kangaroo, old man kangaroo, stuck out his tail like a milking stool behind him, and said, Thank goodness that's finished. Then said Quang, who is always a gentleman. Why aren't you grateful to yellow dog dingo? Why don't you thank him for all he has done for you? Then said kangaroo, tired old kangaroo. He's chased me out of the homes of my childhood. He's chased me out of my regular mealtimes. He's altered my shape, so I'll never get it back, and he's played old scratch with my legs. Then said Quang, Perhaps I'm mistaken, but didn't you ask me to make you different from all other animals, as well as to make you very truly sought after. And now it is five o'clock. Yes, said kangaroo, I wish that I hadn't. I thought you would do it by charms and incantations, but this is a practical joke. Joke! said Quang from his bath in the blue gums. Say that again, and I'll whistle up dingo and run your hind legs off. No, said kangaroo, I must apologise. Legs are legs, and you need an ultram, so far as I'm concerned. I only meant to explain to your lordliness that I've had nothing to eat since this morning, and I'm very empty indeed. Yes, said dingo, yellow dog dingo. I mean, just the same situation. I've made him different from all other animals. But what may I have for my tea? Then said Quang from his bath in the salt pan. Carmen asked me about it to-morrow, because I'm going to wash. So they were left in the middle of Australia, old man kangaroo and yellow dog dingo. And each said, That's your fault! This is the mouth-filling song of a race that was run by a boomer. Run in a single burst, only event of its kind. Started by big god Quang from wariga boriga ruma. Old man kangaroo first, yellow dog dingo behind. Kangaroo bounded away, his back legs working like pistons. Bounded from morning till dark, 25 feet to a bound. Yellow dog dingo lay like a yellow cloud in the distance, much too busy to bark. My, but they covered the ground. Nobody knows where they went. Followed the track that they flew in. For that continent hadn't been given a name. They ran 30 degrees, from Torres straights to the Lewin. Look at an atlas, please. And they ran back as they came. Supposing you could trot from Adelaide to the Pacific for an afternoon's run. Half what these gentlemen did. You would feel rather hot, but your legs would develop terrific. Yes, my importunate son, you'd be a marvellous kid. Descriptions of the pictures by the author. One. This is a picture of old man kangaroo when he was the different animal with four short legs. I have drawn him grey and woolly, and you can see that he is very proud, because he has a wreath of flowers in his hair. He is dancing on an outcrop, that means a leg of rock, in the middle of Australia at six o'clock before breakfast. You can see that it's six o'clock, because the sun is just getting up. The thing with the ears and the open mouth is Little God and Kua. And Kua is very much surprised, because he has never seen a kangaroo dance like that before. Little God and Kua is just saying, go away! But the kangaroo is so busy dancing that he has not heard him yet. The kangaroo hasn't any real name except Boomer. He lost it because he was so proud. Two. This is the picture of old man kangaroo at five in the afternoon, when he had got his beautiful hind legs just as Big God and Kua promised. You can see that it's five o'clock, because Big God and Kua's pet tame clock says so. That isn't Kua in his bath, sticking his feet out.  Yellow Dog Dingo has been trying to catch kangaroo all across Australia. You can see the marks of kangaroo's big new feet running, ever so far back over the bare hills. Yellow Dog Dingo is drawn black, because I'm not allowed to paint these pictures with real colors out of the paint box. And besides, Yellow Dog Dingo got dreadfully black and dusty after running through the flinders and the cinders. I don't know the names of the flowers growing round Kua's bath. The two little squatty things out in the desert are the other two gods that old man kangaroo spoke to early in the morning. That thing with the letters on is old man kangaroo's pouch. He had to have a pouch, just as he had to have legs. End of The Sing Song of Old Man Kangaroo by Rudyard Kipling, read by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org. Just so stories by Rudyard Kipling. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org. Chapter 7 The Beginning of the Armour Dillows This, so best beloved, is another story of the high and far off times. In the very middle of those times was a stickly prickly hedgehog, and he lived on the banks of the turbid Amazon, eating shelly snails and things. And he had a friend, a slow solid tortoise, who lived on the banks of the turbid Amazon, eating green lettuces and things. And so that was all right, best beloved, do you see? But also at the same time, in those high and far off times, there was a painted jaguar, and he lived on the banks of the turbid Amazon too, and he ate anything that he could catch. When he could not catch deer or monkeys, he would eat frogs and beetles, and when he could not catch frogs and beetles, he went to his mother, Jaguar, and she told him how to eat hedgehogs and tortoises. She said to him, ever so many times, graciously waving her tail, my son, when you find a hedgehog, you must drop him into the water, and then he will uncoil. And when you catch a tortoise, you must scoop him out of his shell with your paw. And so that was all right, best beloved. One beautiful night on the banks of the turbid Amazon, painted jaguar found a stickly prickly hedgehog and slow solid tortoise, sitting under the trunk of a fallen tree. They could not run away, so stickly prickly curled himself up into a ball, because he was a hedgehog, and slow solid tortoise drew in his head and feet into his shell as far as they would go, because he was a tortoise. That was all right, best beloved, do you see? Now attend to me, said painted jaguar, because this is very important. My mother said that when I meet a hedgehog, I am to drop him into the water, and then he will uncoil. And when I meet a tortoise, I am to scoop him out of his shell with my paw. Now, which of you is hedgehog and which is tortoise? Because to save my spots, I can't tell. Are you sure of what your mummy told you? said stickly prickly hedgehog. Are you quite sure? Perhaps, she said, when you uncoil a tortoise, you must shell him out of the water with a scoop, and when you pour a hedgehog, you must drop him on the shell. Are you sure of what your mummy told you? said slow solid tortoise. Are you quite sure? Perhaps, she said, that when you water a hedgehog, you must drop him into your paw, and when you meet a tortoise, you must shell him till he uncoils. I don't think it was at all like that, said painted jaguar, but he felt a little puzzled. But please, say it again more distinctly. When you scoop water with your paw, you uncoil it with a hedgehog, said stickly prickly. Remember that, because it's important. But, said the tortoise, when you pour your meat, you drop it into a tortoise with a scoop.  You're making my spots ache, said painted jaguar, and besides, I didn't want your advice at all. I only wanted to know which of you is hedgehog and which is tortoise. I shan't tell you, said stickly prickly, but you can scoop me out of my shell, if you like. Aha! said painted jaguar, now I know your tortoise. You thought I wouldn't, now I will. Painted jaguar darted out his paddy-paw, just as stickly prickly curled himself up.  Worse than that, he knocked stickly prickly away and away into the woods and the bushes, where it was too dark to find him. Then he put his paddy-paw into his mouth.  As soon as he could speak, he said, Do I know he isn't tortoise at all? But, and then he scratched his head with his unprickly paw, How do I know that this other is tortoise? But I am tortoise.  She said you would have scooped me out of my shell with your paw. Begin. You didn't say she said that a minute ago, said painted jaguar, sucking the prickles out of his paddy-paw. You said she said something quite different. Well, suppose you say that I said that she said something quite different. I don't see that it makes any difference. Because if she said what you said I said she said, it's the same as if I said what she said she said she said. On the other hand, if you think she said that you were to uncoil me with a scoop instead of pouring me into drops with a shell, I can't help that, can I? But you said you wanted to be scooped out of your shell with my paw, said painted jaguar. If you'll think again you'll find that I didn't say anything of the kind.  What will happen if I do? said the jaguar, most sniffily and most cautious. I don't know because I've never been scooped out of my shell before, but I tell you truly, if you want to see me swim away you've only got to drop me into the water. I don't believe it, said the painted jaguar. You've mixed up all the things my mother told me to do with the things that you asked me whether I was sure that she didn't say. Till I don't know whether I'm on my head or my painted tail. And now you come and tell me something I can understand, and it makes me more mixedy than before.  So jump into the turbid Amazon and be quick about it. I warn you that your mummy won't be pleased. Don't tell her I didn't tell you, said Slow and Solid. If you say another word about what my mother said, the jaguar answered, but he had not finished the sentence before Slow and Solid quietly dived into the turbid Amazon, swam underwater for a long way, and came out on the bank where Stickley Prickley was waiting for him. That was a very narrow escape, said Stickley Prickley. I don't rib-painted jaguar. What did you tell him that you were? I told him truthfully that I was a truthful daughter. But he wouldn't believe it, and he may be jumping to the river to see if I was. And I was, and he is surprised. Now he's gone to tell his mummy. Listen to him. They could hear a painted jaguar roaring up and down among the trees and the bushes by the side of the turbid Amazon till his mummy came.  What have you been doing that you shouldn't have done? I tried to scoop something that said it wanted to be scooped out of its shell with my paw, and my paw is full of pericles, said painted jaguar.  By the pericles in your paddy-paw, I see that that must have been a hedgehog. You should have dropped him into the water. I did that to the other thing that said he was a tortoise, and I didn't believe him. And it was quite true. And he has dived under the turbid Amazon, and he won't come up again. And I haven't anything at all to eat. And I think we had better find lodging somewhere else. They are too clever on the turbid Amazon for poor me.  Now attend to me and remember what I say. A hedgehog curls himself up into a ball, and his prickles stick out every which way at once. By this you may know the hedgehog. I don't like this old lady one little bit, said stickly prickly under the shadow of a large leaf. I wonder what else she knows. A tortoise can't curl himself up.  By this you may know the tortoise. I don't like this old lady at all at all, said slow solid tortoise. Even painted jaguar can't forget those directions. It's a great pity that you can't swim stickly prickly. Don't talk to me, said stickly prickly. Just think how much better it would be if you could curl up. This is a mess. Listen to painted jaguar. Painted jaguar was sitting on the banks of the turbid Amazon, sucking prickles out of his paws, and saying to himself, Can't curl but can swim. Slow solid, that's him. Curls up but can't swim. Stickly prickly, that's him. He'll never forget that. In a month of Sundays, said stickly prickly.  I'm going to learn to swim. It may be useful. Excellent, said slow and solid. And he held up stickly prickly's chin, while stickly prickly kicked in the waters of the turbid Amazon. You'll make a fine swimmer yet, said slow and solid. Now, if you can unlace my back plates a little, I'll see what I can do towards curling up. It may be useful. Stickly prickly helped to unlace towards his back plates, so that by twisting and straining, slow and solid actually managed to curl up a tidy wee bit. Excellent, said stickly prickly, but I shouldn't do that any more now.  Kindly leave into the water once again, and I'll practice that side stroke, which you say is so easy. And so, stickly prickly practiced, and slow solid swam alongside. Excellent, said slow and solid. A little more practice, and you'll make a regular whale. Now, if I may trouble you to unlace my back and front plate two holes more, I'll try that fascinating bend that you say is so easy. Won't, painted jaguar, be surprised. Excellent, said stickly prickly, all wet from the turbid Amazon. I declare, I shouldn't know you from one of my own family. Two holes, I think you said. A little more expression, please, and don't grunt quite so much, or painted jaguar may hear us. When you've finished, I want to try that long dive, which you say is so easy. Won't, painted jaguar, be surprised. So, and slow and solid dived alongside. Excellent, said slow and solid. A little more attention to holding your breath, and you will be able to keep house at the bottom of the turbid Amazon.  Won't, painted jaguar, be surprised. Excellent, said stickly prickly, but it's straining your back plates a little. They're all overlapping now, instead of lying side by side. Oh, that's the result of exercise, said slow and solid. I've noticed that your prickles seem to be melding into one another, and that you're growing to look more like a pine cone, and less like a chestnut ber than you used to. Am I? said stickly prickly. That comes from my soaking in the water. Oh, won't, painted jaguar, be surprised. They went on with their exercises, each helping the other till morning came. When the sun was high, they rested and dried themselves. Then they saw that they were both of them quite different from what they had been. Stickly prickly, said tortoise after breakfast. I am not, but I was yesterday. But I think that I may yet amuse, painted jaguar. That was the very thing I was thinking just now, said stickly prickly. I think scales are a tremendous improvement on prickles, to say nothing of being able to swim. Oh, won't, painted jaguar, be surprised. Let's go and find him. By and by they found, painted jaguar, still nursing his paddy-poor, that had been hurt the night before. He was so astonished, that he fell three times backwards over his own painted tail without stopping. Good morning, said stickly prickly. And how is our dear gracious mummy this morning? She is quite well, thank you, said painted jaguar. But you must forgive me, if I do not at this precise moment recall your name. That's unkind of you, said stickly prickly, seeing that this time yesterday you tried to scoop me out of my shell with your paw. But you hadn't any shell, it was all prickles, said painted jaguar. I know it was. Just look at my paw. And you told me to drop into the turbid amazon and be drowned, said slow solid. Why are you so rude and forgetful today?  Can't curl, but can swim, stickly prickly, that's him. Curls up, but can't swim. Slow solid, that's him. Then they both curled themselves up and rolled round and round, painted jaguar, till his eyes turned truly cartwheels in his head. Then he went to fetch his mother. Mother, he said, there are two new animals in the woods today, and the one you said couldn't swim, swims, and the one you said couldn't curl up curls. And they've gone shares in their prickles, I think, because both of them are scaly all over, instead of one being smooth, and the other very prickly. And besides that, they are rolling round and round in circles, and I don't feel comfy. Sun, sun, said Mother Jaguar, ever so many times, graciously waving her tail. A hedgehog is a hedgehog, and can't be anything but a hedgehog. And a tortoise is a tortoise, and can never be anything else. But it isn't a hedgehog, and it isn't a tortoise, it's a little bit of both. And I don't know its proper name. Nonsense, said Mother Jaguar, everything has its proper name. I should call it Armadillo, till I found out a real one, and I should leave it alone. So, painted Jaguar did as he was told, especially about leaving them alone. But the curious thing is, that from that day to this, so best beloved, no one on the banks of the turbid Amazon has ever called stickly prickly and slow solid anything except Armadillo. There are hedgehogs and tortoises in other places, of course. There are some in my garden, but the real old and clever kind, with the scales lying, lippity lappity, one over the other, like pinecone scales, that lived on the banks of the turbid Amazon in the high and far off days, are always called Armadillos, because they are so clever. So that's all right, best beloved. Do you see? I've never sailed the Amazon, I've never reached Brazil, but the Don and Magdalena, they can go there when they will. Yes, weekly from Southampton, great steamers, white and gold, go rolling down to Rio, roll down, roll down to Rio. I'd like to roll to Rio, some day before I'm old. I've never seen a Jaguar, nor yet an Armadillo, oh, dillowing in his armour. And I suppose I never will, unless I go to Rio, these wonders to behold. Roll down, roll down to Rio. Roll really down to Rio. Oh, I'd love to roll to Rio, some day before I'm old. Description of the pictures by the author. One. This is an inciting map of the turbid Amazon, done in red and black. It has nothing to do with the story, except that there are two Armadillos in it, up at the top. The inciting part are the adventures that happened to the men who went along the road marked in red. I meant to draw Armadillos when I began the map, and I meant to draw manatees and spider-tailed monkeys and big snakes and lots of jaguars. But it was more inciting to do the map, and the venturesome adventures in red. You begin at the bottom left-hand corner, and follow the little arrows all above, and then you come quite round again to where the adventuresome people went home in a ship called the Royal Tiger. This is a most adventuresome picture, and all the adventures are told about in writing. So you can be quite sure which is an adventure, and which is a tree or a boat. 2. This is a picture of the whole story of the Jaguar and the Hedgehog and the Tortoise and the Armadillo, all in a heap. It looks rather the same, any way you turn it. The Tortoise is in the middle, learning how to bend, and that's why the Shelley plates on his back are so spread apart. He is standing on the Hedgehog, who is waiting to learn how to swim. The Hedgehog is a Japanese Hedgehog, because I couldn't find our own Hedgehogs in the garden when I wanted to draw them. It was daytime, and they had gone to bed under the dahlias. Speckley Jaguar is looking over the edge, with his paddy-poor carefully tied up by his mother, because he pricked himself, scooping the Hedgehog. He is much surprised to see what the Tortoise is doing, and his poor is hurting him. The snouty thing, with the little eye that Speckley Jaguar is trying to climb over, is the armadillo that the Tortoise and the Hedgehog are going to turn into when they finished bending and swimming. It's all a magic picture, and that is one of the reasons why I haven't drawn the Jaguar's whiskers. The other reason is that he was so young that his whiskers had not grown. The Jaguar's pet name with his mummy was Duffels. End of The Beginning of the Armadillos This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Just so stories. Chapter 8. How the First Letter Was Written Once upon a most early time was a neolithic man. He was not a jute, or an angle, or even a Dravidian, which he might well have been best beloved, but never mind why. He was a primitive, and he lived caverly, in a cave. And he wore very few clothes, and he couldn't read, and he couldn't write, and he didn't want to. And except when he was hungry, he was quite happy. His name was Tegumai Bopsuli. And that means, man who does not put his foot forward in a hurry. But we, our best beloved, will call him Tegumai for short. And his wife's name was Teshumai Tiwindro. And that means, lady who asks a very many questions. But we, our best beloved, will call her Teshumai for short. And his little girl's daughter's name was Tafimai Metallumai. And that means, small person without any manners, who ought to be spanked.  She was Tegumai Bopsuli's best beloved, and her own mummy's best beloved. And she was not spanked half as much as was good for her. And they were all three very happy. As soon as Tafi could run about, she went everywhere with her daddy Tegumai. And sometimes they would not come home to the cave till they were hungry. And then Teshumai Tiwindro would say, Where in the world have you two been to, to get so shocking dirty? Really, my Tegumai, you're no better than my Tafi. Now, attend and listen. One day, Tegumai Bopsuli went down through the Beaver Swamp to the Wagaya River to spear carp fish for dinner. And Tafi went too. Tegumai's spear was made of wood with shark's teeth at the end. And before he had caught any fish at all, he accidentally broke it, clean across, by jabbing it down too hard on the bottom of the river. They were miles and miles from home. Of course, they had their lunch with them in a little bag. And Tegumai had forgotten to bring any extra spears. There's a pretty kettle of fish, said Tegumai. It will take me half a day to mend this. There's your big black spear at home, said Tafi. Let me run back to the cave and ask Mummy to give it me. It's too far for your little fat legs, said Tegumai. Besides, you might fall into the Beaver Swamp and be drowned. We must make the best of a bad job. He sat down and took out a little leather mendy-bag, full of reindeer sinews and strips of leather and lumps of bees-backs and resin, and began to mend the spear. Tafi sat down too, with her toes in the water and her chin in her hand, and thought very hard. Then she said, I say, Daddy, it's an awful nuisance that you and I don't know how to write, isn't it? If we did, we could send a message for the new spear. Tafi, said Tegumai, how often have I told you not to use slang? Awful isn't a pretty word. But it could be a convenience, now you mention it, if we could write home. Just then a stranger man came along the river. But he belonged to a far tribe, the Tiwaros. And he did not understand one word of Tegumai's language. He stood on the bank and smiled at Tafi, because he had little girl-daughter of his own, at home. Tegumai drew a hank of deer sinews from his mendipag and began to mend his spear. Come here, said Tafi. Do you know where my mummy lives? And the stranger man said, Um! Being, as you know, a Tiwara. Silly! said Tafi, and she stamped her foot. Because she saw a shoulder very big carp going up the river, just when her daddy couldn't use his spear. Don't bother grown-ups, said Tegumai, so busy with his spear-mending that he did not turn around. I aren't, said Tafi. I only want him to do what I want him to do, and he won't understand.  The stranger man, a genuine Tiwara he was, sat down on the grass, and Tafi showed him what her daddy was doing. The stranger man thought, This is a very wonderful child. She stamps her foot at me, and she makes faces. She must be the daughter of that noble chief, who is so great that he won't take any notice of me. So he smiled more politely than ever.  The stranger man, and he was a Tiwara, thought, This is a very, very wonderful child. She waves her arms, and she shouts at me, but I don't understand a word of what she says. But if I don't do what she wants, I greatly fear that that haughty chief, man who turns his back on callers, will be angry. He got up and twisted a big flat piece of bark off a birch tree, and gave it to Tafi. He did this best beloved, to show that his heart was as white as the birch bark, and that he meant no harm. But Tafi didn't quite understand. Oh, she said, Now I see, you want my mummy's living address. Of course I can't write, but I can draw pictures if I have anything sharp to scratch with. Please lend me the shark's tooth off your necklace. The stranger man, and he was a Tiwara, didn't say anything. So Tafi put up a little hand, and pulled at the beautiful bead and seed and shark tooth necklace round his neck. The stranger man, and he was a Tiwara, thought, This is a very, very, very wonderful child. The shark's tooth on my necklace is a magic shark's tooth, and I was always told that if anybody touched it without my leave, they would immediately swell up or burst. But this child doesn't swell up or burst. And that important chief, man who attends strictly to his business, who has not yet taken any notice of me at all, doesn't seem to be afraid that she will swell up or burst. I had better be more polite. So he gave Tafi the shark's tooth, and she lay down flat on her tummy with her legs in the air, like some people on the drawing-room floor when they want to draw pictures.  You can look over my shoulder, but you mustn't juggle. First, I'll draw Daddy fishing. It isn't very like him, but Mummy will know, because I've drawn his spear all broken. Well, now I'll draw the other spear that he wants, the black-handled spear. It looks as if it was sticking in Daddy's back, but that's because the shark's tooth slipped, and this piece of bark isn't big enough. That's the spear I want you to fetch. So I'll draw a picture of me myself, explaining to you. My hair doesn't stand up like I've drawn, but it's easier to draw that way. Now I'll draw you. I think I'm very nice, really, but I can't make you pretty in the picture, so you mustn't be offended. Are you offended? The stranger man, and he was a tiwara, smiled. He thought, there must be a big battle going to be fought somewhere, and this extraordinary child, who takes my magic shark's tooth, but who does not swell up or burst, is telling me to call all the great chief's tribe to help him. He is a great chief, or he would have noticed me. Look! said Taffy, drawing very hard and rather scratchily. Now I've drawn you. I've put the spear that daddy wants into your hand, just to remind you that you're to bring it. Now I'll show you how to find my mummy's living address.  Those are trees.  I haven't put in all the beavers because I can't draw beavers, but I've drawn their heads, and that's all you'll see of them when you cross the swamp. Mind you don't fall in. Then our cave is just beyond the beaver swamp. It isn't as high as the hills really, but I can't draw things very small. That's my mummy outside. She is beautiful. She is the most beautifulest mummy there ever was. But she won't be fended when she sees I've drawn her so plain. She'll be pleased of me, because I can draw. Now in case you forget, I've drawn the spear that daddy wants outside our cave. It's inside really, but you show the picture to my mummy and she'll give it to you. I've made her holding up her hands, because I know she'll be so pleased to see you. Isn't it a beautiful picture? And do you quite understand? Or shall I explain again? The stranger man, and he was a tiwara. Looked at the picture, and nodded very hard, he said to himself, If I do not fetch this great chief's tribe to help him, he will be slain by his enemies who are coming up on all sides with spears. Now I see why the great chief pretended not to notice me. He feared that his enemies were hiding in the bushes and would see him. Therefore he turned to me his back. Let the wise and wonderful child draw the terrible picture, showing me his difficulties. I will away, and get help for him from his tribe. He did not even ask Taffy the road, but raced off into the bushes like the wind, with the birch bark in his hand. And Taffy sat down, most pleased. Now this is the picture that Taffy had drawn for him. What have you been doing, Taffy? said Tegumai. He had mended his spear, and was carefully waving it to and fro. It's a little arrangement of my own, Daddy dear, said Taffy. If you won't ask me questions, you'll know all about it in a little time, and you'll be surprised. You don't know how surprised you'll be, Daddy. Promised you'll be surprised? Very well, said Tegumai, and went on fishing. The stranger man, did you know he was a tiwara? Hurried away with the picture, and ran for some miles, still quite by accident, he found Tegumai to windrow at the door of her cave, talking to some other neolithic ladies, who had come in to a primitive lunch. Taffy was very like Tegumai, especially about the upper part of the face and the eyes, so the stranger man, always a pure tiwara, smiled politely, and handed Tegumai the birch bark. He'd run hard so that he panted, and his legs were scratched with rambles, but he still tried to be polite. As soon as Tegumai saw the picture, she screamed like anything, and flew with the stranger man. The other neolithic ladies at once knocked him down, and sat on him in a long line of six, while Tegumai pulled his hair. It's plain as the nose on this stranger's face, she said.  Look! She showed the picture to all the neolithic ladies, sitting patiently on the stranger man. Here is my Tegumai with his arm broken, here is a spear sticking into his back, here is a man with a spear ready to throw, and here's another man throwing a spear from a cave, and here are a whole pack of people. They were Taffy's beavers, really, but they did look rather like people. Coming up behind Tegumai, isn't it shocking? Most shocking, said the neolithic ladies, and they filled the stranger man's hair with mud, at which he was surprised. And they beat upon the reverberating tribal drums, and called together all the chiefs of the tribe of Tegumai, with their headmans and dolmens, all negroses, wounds and aroons of the organisation, in addition to the warlocks, anglox, juju men, bonzes and the rest. Who decided that before they chopped the stranger man's head off, he should instantly lead them down to the river, and show them where he had hidden poor Taffy. By this time, the stranger man, in spite of being a tewara, was really annoyed. They had filled his hair quite solid with mud, they had rolled him up and down on noblive-hebbles, they had sat upon him in a long line of six, they had thumped him and bumped him till he could hardly breathe. And though he did not understand their language, he was almost sure that the names the neolithic ladies called him were not ladylike. However, he said nothing till all the tribe of Tegumai were assembled. And they only led them back to the bank of the Wagai River, where they found Taffy making daisy chains, and Tegumai carefully spearing small carp with his mended spear. Well, you have been quick, said Taffy, but why did you bring so many people? Daddy dear, this is my surprise. Are you surprised, daddy? Very, said Tegumai, but it's ruined all my fishing for the day. Why, the whole dear, kind, nice, clean, quiet tribe, is here, Taffy. And so they were. First of all, walked in Tegumai to Windrow and the Neolithic ladies, tightly holding on to the stranger man, whose hair was full of mud, although he was a Tiwara. Behind them came the head chief, the vice chief, the deputy and assistant chiefs, all armed to the upper teeth. The headmans, and heads of hundreds, plot-offs with their platoons, and dolmens with their detachments, wounds, necklaces, and arcoons ranking in the rear, still armed to the teeth. Behind them was the tribe in hierarchical order, from owners of four caves, one for each season, a private reindeer run and two salmon leaps, to feudal, protagonist villains, semi-entitled, half a bear skin of winter's nights, seven yards from the fire, and at script serfs, holding the reversion of a scraped marrow bone under heriot. Aren't those beautiful words best beloved? They were all there, prancing and shouting, and they frightened every fish for twenty miles. And Tegumai thanked them, in a fluid, neolithic oration. Then Tejumaita Windrow ran down, and kissed and hugged Taffy very much indeed. But the head chief of the tribe of Tegumai took Tegumai by the top-knot feathers, and shook him severely. Explain, explain, explain!" cried all the tribe of Tegumai. Goodness, sakes alive, said Tegumai. Let go of my top-knot. Can't a man break his cup-spear without the whole countryside descending on him?  I don't believe you've brought my daddy's black-handled spear after all, said Taffy. And what are you doing to my nice, stranger man? They were thumping him by twos and threes and tens, till his eyes turned round and round. He could only gasp and point at Taffy. Where are all the bad people who speared you, my darling? said Tejumaita Windrow. There weren't any, said Tegumai. My only visitor this morning was the poor fellow that you're trying to choke. Aren't you well? Or are you ill, oh tribe of Tegumai?   Uh, um, perhaps I better explain that I gave him that picture, said Taffy, but she did not feel quite comfy.  Taffy, dear, I'm afraid we're in for a little trouble, said her daddy, and put his arm round her so she didn't care. Explain, explain, explain, said the head chief of the tribe of Tegumai, and he hopped on one foot. I wanted the stranger man to fetch daddy's spear, so I drawed it, said Taffy. There wasn't lots of spears, there was only one spear. I drawed it three times to make sure. I couldn't help it looking as if it stuck in the daddy's head. There wasn't room on the birch bark, and those things that mummy call bad people are my beavers. I drawed them to show the way through the swamp, and I drawed mummy at the mouth of the cave looking pleased. Because he is a nice stranger man, and I think you're just the stupidest people in the world, said Taffy. He's a very nice man. Why have you filled his hair with mud? Wash him. Nobody said anything at all for a long time. Till the head chief laughed. Then the stranger man, who was at least at Tiwara, laughed. Then Tegumai laughed till he fell down flat on the bank. Then all the tribe laughed more and worse and louder. The only people who did not laugh were Teshumai to Windrow and all the Neolithic ladies.  Then the head chief of the tribe of Tegumai cried and said and sang, Oh, small person, without any manners who ought to be spanked, you've hit upon a great invention. I didn't intend to. I only wanted daddy's black-handled spear, said Taffy. Never mind, it is a great invention. And some day men will call it writing. At present it's only pictures, and as we have seen today, pictures are not always perfectly understood. But a time will come, O babe of Tegumai, when we shall make letters, all twenty-six of them, and when we shall be able to read as well as to write. And then we shall always say exactly what we mean without any mistakes. Let the Neolithic ladies wash the mud out of the stranger's hair. I should be glad of that, said Taffy, because after all, though you've brought every single other spear in the tribe of Tegumai, you've forgotten my daddy's black-handled spear. Then the head chief cried and said and sang, Taffy dear, the next time you write a picture letter, you'd better send a man who can talk our language with it to explain what it means.  But it's very bad for the rest of the tribe of Tegumai, and as you can see, it surprises the stranger. Then they adopted the stranger man, a genuine Tewara of Tewa, into the tribe of Tegumai, because he was a gentleman and did not make a fuss about the mud that the Neolithic ladies had put into his hair. But from that day to this, and I suppose it is all Taffy's fault, very few little girls ever liked learning to read or write. Most of them prefer to draw pictures and play about with their daddy's, just like Taffy. They run the road by meadow down, a grassy track today it is, an hour out of Guilford town, above the river way it is. Here, when they heard the horsebell's ring, the ancient Britons dressed and rode, to watch the dark Phoenicians bring their goods along the western road. And here, or hereabouts, they met to hold their racial talks and such, to butter beads for Whitby Jet, and tin for gay shell talks and such. But long and long before that time, when Bison used to roam on it, did Taffy and her daddy climb that down and had their home on it, then beavers built in Broadstone Brook, and made a swamp where Bramley stands. And years from sheer would come and look for Taffy Mai, where Shamley stands. The way that Taffy called Waghai was more than six times bigger then, and all the tribe of Tigumai, they cut a noble figure then. Description of the picture by the author This is the story of Taffy Mai Metellomai carved on an old tusk, a very long time ago by the ancient peoples. If you read my story, or have it read to you, you can see how it's all told out on the tusk. The tusk was part of an old tribal trumpet that belonged to the tribal


David Wilford was a member of a small men's club in a small town in West Virginia. Well, they called it a men's club. The name was rather too dignified for a group of five married men occasionally going out to a shed in the middle of the woods to watch the game, drink some beers, and fart loudly without the wives pointedly pretending to choke while sitting next to them. David has forgotten to reclip the secret compartment in his wallet. He doesn't know it, but through this action, he has doomed the blissful ignorance of the entirety of the world that is currently unaware of the anomalous. Here he goes, bending down to grab his beer. That is five, four, three, two. An ID badge adorned with a certain three-pronged shield and arrows fell from David's pocket and landed face up on the table. David stared in shock for a few crucial moments, allowing John, Marco, Ricky, and Glenn to see the symbol. They all simultaneously broke the silence. Dave, you work for... They all paused, then looked at each other in surprise as they realized that the others had said the exact same thing. Dave joined in the chorus. You know about the foundation? There was an encore. No? I work for the foundation. How do you? There was another silence, which the other four men used to produce badges of their own with sheepish looks. Level three, anomalous engineering, said Marco slowly. Level two, research assistant, said Glenn. External affairs, said Ricky. Level four, head researcher, SCP classified, said David, looking a bit embarrassed. MTF Lambda 64, said John. They all looked at each other and broke out laughing. They spent the night swapping unclassified stories and ended up stumbling home a lot later and a lot drunker than normal. David emptied his pockets onto the nightstand in the dark, stripped off his clothes, and managed to get into bed without waking Sandra. David woke up to Sandra shaking him. He groaned, his head banging, his mouth dry, and looked up at her. He sobered almost immediately when he saw that she was holding his ID in her hand. Wordlessly, she held up her other hand. There was another badge with her picture on it. He took his back, stared at his wife in silence, then spoke. How many people does the foundation actually employ? I'm sorry, but it's classified. Even I don't know. Site director Huare said to the 10 people standing in front of her desk. At David's insistence, the men had all gone to the wives, ID in one hand, amnestics in the other. And sure enough, not a single pill was swallowed that night. Okay, John's wife said. How about the number of people working at this site? No. The number of people from our town working here? David suggested. No. Command director Juarez, we don't even need an exact number, Glenn weadled. No names, no personal information. Just give us a rough percentage. I mean, you could always just amnestize us after. Surely you are just a bit curious about the odds of such a huge coincidence happening? Director Juarez hesitated for a few moments, agonizing over it, then finally bent over her computer, opened up the personnel files, overrode the multiple firewalls preventing complete access, and found the number of site personnel from David's town. She searched the total population, she opened her calculator, and divided the first number by the second, multiplied the answer by 100, then stared at the results. Eventually, the group sidled around her desk and looked at the number she'd come up with. 74.6943888. Dr Juarez said, how many people does the foundation employ? Tell the director that that information is classified. As she well knows, O5-8 spoke into her phone. She put it down and turned it to the other council members. What do you mean we don't know? Well, you know the way we work, 8, said O5-4. Too much knowledge is dangerous, even to us. Besides, with our turnover numbers, an exact number has never been feasible. Well, I want one, just to satisfy my curiosity. Three, do you have it yet? Uh, I have it. Came the voice from the computer. It's, well, the number came up on the screen. The rest of the O5 council stared. 3 billion, 496 million, 974,222. O5-5 broke the silence. Is there anybody out there who isn't aware of anomalies on some level? I don't know, said O5-8, her mouth tight. But I intend to find out. The patrons of the library, and indeed anybody who held a library card, whether they were there or not, looked up as an eldritch voice boomed in their heads. Will all patrons from Earth timeline B173 briefly halt and raise their hands for a survey from the head librarian? The head librarian pushed his glasses up and glanced at the letter in front of him. Then he raised his tail and began to point and count. Let's see now. One, two, three. As he reached the tens of thousands, seeing how many people were left, he wished that he had fingers to count on. Jack Dawkins, also known as The Critic, looked at the display in front of him, then bagged the facts in his hand. And that's all of them? The artist in front of him said, Yes, Critic. Every dot on the map represents an active an artist in the world. I based it off of that work you did back in 09 when you were... Yes, I can see that. The Critic's tone made it clear that he was not pleased with derivatives of his work being made. The artist hesitated. When you press this button in theory, it should kill or at least incapacitate every artist that doesn't have our la...  The Critic shouted. How many times have I said not to f***ing do that? What is the f***ing point of making work that kills anyone who looks at it? The whole damn point of art is to send a message.  That's not art. It's f***ing bullsh**t! After a few moments, the artist quavered. So I should make it so the button gets rid of people whose art killed people? The Critic's face went blank for a second. Then he laid his head in his hands. No. I have a very bad feeling that the people who are left with number in the double digits. I'd rather live in ignorance. Just wrap that number up in a non-lethal meme and send it on. The numbers came in. An exquisite envelope made from some rare tree arrived from Marshall, Carter, and Dark. An automation arrived with an envelope and a request for $10,000. The Church of the Broken God sent three messages. One by email. One shot from a steam-powered cannon. And one on a bird that was slowly being converted to clockwork. Every group of interest, major and minor. Every anomalous person. The O5s loaded them all up into the computer and waited for it to spit out a list of names. Anyone who hadn't been on any of the lists sent to them. Finally the printer word and buzzed and the O5s had their answer. It wasn't pretty. Jeremiah Wothers strolled into his apartment and flopped down in front of the TV. He was beat and ready to relax for the rest of the night. He flipped the channel to Fox but instead of being rewarded with the wacky exploits of various yellow caricatures, there was what looked like a meeting room filled with shadowy figures wearing various odd symbols. Confused and slightly annoyed, Jeremiah turned to TBS and came face to face with the same picture. He flipped through every channel in his cable package with the same results. Some government announcement he wondered. Then one of the figures on the screen spoke. Hello people of Earth. Almost all of you will find exactly zero shock in what I am about to say. But all myths are true. The laws of physics are rather closer to suggestions and the world is populated by monsters, gods and human beings with the power to rewrite reality itself. Various images of the beings described by the figure flashed across the screen. My name is O5-8 and I am one of the leaders of the SCP Foundation. We have called this meeting with representatives for nearly every major group dealing with anomalies to inform the world that on some level everybody knows. Yes, we've crunched the numbers and double checked them. And the number of people who had absolutely zero contact with any facet of the anomalous world comes to roughly one person. This meeting is a message. The veil is lifted, the masquerade dissolved. Apparently it was so many years ago and nobody noticed. Please be aware that all of our groups are in agreement on one thing. Fundamentally, this changes nothing about anybody's goals. As far as the foundation is concerned, there is still a basic normality within the world that allowed life to exist as it has up to now. That is still worth protecting and we intend to do so. And to a mister, here the figure consulted the paper in front of her. Jeremiah Wothers. If you have any questions, you may call the number below. A number flashed briefly across the screen. Then the meeting room disappeared, just in time for Homer to wrap his hands around Bart's neck. Jeremiah stared for a few moments, then settled back in to watch and sulk a bit. I totally knew the whole time he muttered to himself. End of file. To learn more about the SCP Foundation, subscribe to SCP orientation today and turn the notification bell on so you don't miss any of our videos.