NEAR the bank of the Nerbudda River there stood a wide branching Silk-cotton-tree in which a large colony of Weaver Birds had built their hanging nests, and lived snugly in them, no matter how bad the weather. It was the rainy season, and the heavens were overspread with heavy clouds like sheets of blue-black indigo, and there was a steady and tremendous down-pour of water. The birds looked out from their nests and saw some Monkeys shivering and half-dead with the cold, standing under the tree.

“Twit-twit! Twit-twit!” they began to chirp. “Listen to us, you Monkeys. We birds build warm, cosy nests with no help but our beaks. Why can’t you do as much, with your nimble hands and feet, instead of sitting in the drenching rain?”

On hearing this the Monkeys were quite angry.

“O-ho!” they said. “The birds in their snug nests are making fun of us, but just wait until the rain is over!” Accordingly, as soon as the weather had cleared the Monkeys climbed the Silk-cotton-tree and broke all the Weaver Birds’ eggs and destroyed their nests.

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