Whenever a storm came the youth would hasten out of the house, as though the safety of the crops depended upon it, to protect the Eagle. So, winter and summer, no other care occupied his attention. Cornfield and melon-garden was this bird to this youth; so much so that his brothers, elder and younger, and his male relatives generally, looked down upon him as negligent of all manly duties, and wasteful of their substance, which he helped not to earn in his excessive care of the bird. Naturally, therefore, they looked with aversion upon the Eagle; and one evening, after a hard day’s work, after oft-repeated remonstrances with the youth for not joining in their labors, they returned home tired and out of humor, and, climbing the ladder of the lower terrace, passed the great cage on their way into the upper house. They stopped a moment before entering, and one of the eldest of the party exclaimed: “We have remonstrated in vain with the younger brother; we have represented his duties to him in every possible light, yet without effect. What remains to be done? What plans can we devise to alienate him from this miserable Eagle?”
“Why not kill the wretched bird?” asked one of them. “That, I should say, would be the most simple means of curing him of his infatuation.”
“That is an excellent plan,” exclaimed all of the brothers as they went on into the house; “we must adopt it.”
The Eagle, apparently so unconscious, heard all this, and pondered over it. Presently came the youth with meat and other delicate food for his beloved bird, and, opening the wicket of the gate, placed it within and bade the Eagle eat. But the bird looked at him and at the food with no apparent interest, and, lowering its head on its breast, sat moody and silent.
“Are you ill, my beloved Eagle?” asked the youth, “or why is it that you do not eat?”
“I do not care to eat,” said the Eagle, speaking for the first time. “I am oppressed with much anxiety.”
“Do eat, my beloved Eagle,” said the youth. “Why should you be sad? Have I neglected you?”
“No, indeed, you have not,” said the Eagle. “For this reason I love you as you love me; for this reason I prize and cherish you as you cherish me; and yet it is for this very reason that I am sad. Look you! Your brothers and relatives have often remonstrated with you for your neglect of their fields and your care for me. They have often been angered with you for not bearing your part in the duties of the household. Therefore it is that they look with reproach upon you and with aversion upon me, so much so that they have at last determined to destroy me in order to do away with your affection for me and to withdraw your attention. For this reason I am sad—not that they can harm me, for I need but spread my wings when the wicket is opened, and what can they do? But I would not part from you, for I love you. I would not that you should part with me, for you love me. Therefore am I sad, for I must go tomorrow to my home in the skies,” said the Eagle, again relapsing into moody silence.
“Oh, my beloved bird! my own dear Eagle, how could I live without you? How could I remain behind when you went forward, below when you went upward?” exclaimed the youth, already beginning to weep. “No! Go, go, if it need be, alas! but let me go with you,” said the youth.
“My friend! my poor, poor youth!” said the Eagle, “you cannot go with me. You have not wings to fly, nor have you knowledge to guide your course through the high skies into other worlds that you know not of.”
“Let me go with you,” cried the youth, falling on his knees by the side of the cage. “I will comfort you, I will care for you, even as I have done here; but live without you I cannot!”
“Ah, my youth,” said the Eagle, “I would that you could go with me, but the end would not be well. You know not how little you love me that you wish to do this thing. Think for a moment! The foods that my people eat are not the foods of your people; they are not ripened by fire for our consumption, but whatever we capture abroad on our measureless hunts we devour as it is, asking no fire to render it palatable or wholesome. You could not exist thus.”
“My Eagle! my Eagle!” cried the youth. “If I were to remain behind when you went forward, or below when you went upward, food would be as nothing to me; and were it not better that I should eat raw food, or no food, than that I should stay here, excessively and sadly thinking of you, and thus never eat at all, even of the food of my own people? No, let me go with you!”
“Once more I implore you, my
