From all directions the Apes came, running and scrambling along the ground, their arms full of driftwood. A few moments later, the huge pile was heaped on top of the Glow-Worm, and the Apes sat around in a circle waiting for the wood to catch fire.
As they were waiting, a Popinjay in a tree called out,—
“You silly Apes, you may sit there with your teeth chattering until Doomsday, but that pile will never catch fire. That was not a spark that you found, but only a worm with a shining light in his tail!”
“Foolish bird,” retorted the Apes, “do you think that we do not know a worm from a spark of fire?”
“It is not a spark,” repeated the Popinjay. “It is not a spark. It is not a spark.” And she flew down into their midst, still crying, “It is not a spark.”
Whereupon the foolish Apes in anger sprang upon the Popinjay and tore her to pieces, feather by feather and bone by bone, until there was nothing left of her.