1
now you who have read this story will remember how two-legs, many years ago, mastered all the animals on earth.
those which he could use and which obeyed him as they should he tamed and took into his service. those which he could not employ he let alone, provided only that they left him and his in peace. if they did not, then he waged war upon them, nor ceased until he had prevailed against them. he always ended by prevailing, for he was the cleverest, you see, and therefore the strongest.
and, little by little, the tame animals grew so much accustomed to being with him and so completely lost the qualities with which they had been wont to shift for themselves that they could no longer do without their bondage. when, once in a way, they escaped and tried to live like the other, free, wild animals, they could not manage at all, but perished miserably.
but the wild animals which two-legs had no use for lurked round about in their hiding-places and cavilled and muttered and made no progress and did themselves no good.
2
at the time when this particular story begins, two-legs had put up a new summer tent in a green meadow, not far from the beach.
he was sitting outside it one evening, while the twilight was closing in. all the family had gone to bed and were sleeping soundly after the exertions of the day. all the cattle lay in the grass, munching and chewing the cud. the dog, his faithful servant, lay on the ground before him, pricking up his ears at every sound, sleeping with one eye and watching with the other.
two-legs did not sleep himself.
he was old now and no longer needed so much rest. and he was not tired either as in former days, for he now had so many children and grandchildren that they were able to do most of the work. himself, he loved best to sit quietly, to think of what had happened to him in his life and to meditate on the things that were yet to come.
when he sat like that, he often seemed to hear voices on either side of him. they came from the spring that rippled past him, from the tree whose leaves whispered over his head, from the evening breeze that cooled his brow:
“two-legs ... the lord of the earth ... the cleverest ... the strongest,” rippled the spring.
“two-legs ... the vanquisher of the lion ... the terror of the wild animals ... the protector of the tame,” whispered the tree.
“two-legs ... whom no one can understand ... to whom all things belong,” sang the evening breeze.
two-legs sat and listened. he liked to hear that sort of thing, the more the better.
but, as the evening wore on, the wind grew stronger and shook the tent. the gentle whispering in the leaves sounded less home-like than before. the billows in the brook did not babble softly, but made a mighty uproar and sent their foam splashing right over his feet.
“what’s the matter?” asked two-legs, who was beginning to feel cold, and wrapped his cloak round him.
“yes, who knows what’s the matter?” whispered the leaves.
“who can tell what’s at the bottom of it?” rippled the spring.
“there is more between heaven and earth than two-legs knows of,” said the wind.
two-legs leant back against the tent and looked about him proudly:
“then let it come,” he said. “i have vanquished the lion and subdued the horse and the wild ox; so i daresay i can conquer what remains.”
just as he said this, there came a terrible gust of wind.
it knocked two-legs over, till he rolled along the ground and fell into the brook. it tore three great deer-skins from the tent and woke all those who were lying asleep inside. they started up and screamed and did not know what was happening. the dog howled at the top of his voice, with his tail between his legs. two-legs crawled out of the brook, dripping wet.
the moment he tried to rise to his feet, another gust came ... and another ... and another.
two-legs crept along the ground on all fours. the whole tent was blown down and the people inside ran and fell over one another and shouted and wailed so that it was horrible to hear.
but no one heard it, for each had enough to do to think of saving his own life. the cows and the goats and the sheep lowed and bleated with fright and ran up against one another and trampled on one another. many of them fell down the slope and broke their legs. the horses galloped off over the meadow and ran till they dropped from exhaustion far away inland. the big tree above two-legs’ tent snapped in two like a stalk of grass.
3
when day broke, two-legs sat and wept at all the destruction which he saw around him. he let the family drive the cattle together and set up the tent again. he himself sat huddled in his cloak and brooded and stared before him. then he said:
“you bad wind!”
and he raised his clenched fist in the direction from which it was still blowing violently.
“you destroyed my property last night,” he cried, “and might easily have killed me and mine. now, we are setting up the tent and collecting the cattle; but you may come back, to-night or to-morrow night, and ruin everything once more.”
“so i may,” said the wind.
“you bad wind!”
“i am not bad,” said the wind.
“would you have me call you good, after the way you’ve treated me?” asked two-legs.
“i am not good,” said the wind.
“very well, you are neither bad nor good,” said two-legs.
“just so,” said the wind. “you’ve hit it.”
“i don’t know,” said two-legs. “but can you tell me what use it is for me to vanquish the lion and tame the ox and the horse, the camel and the elephant, when a puff of wind can destroy all that i have done? can you tell me how i can get you into my service and what i am to use you for?”
“i can tell you nothing,” said the wind. “catch me, conquer me, use me!”
he darted across the fields and took with him a great piece of skin that belonged to the old tent, blew it out, lifted it high in the air and carried it far away over the water. two-legs sat and watched it until it was out of sight.
4
then the eldest son came:
“we can’t stay here any longer,” he said. “the storm has destroyed both the corn and the grass; and our cattle have nothing to eat. it was the same wherever i rode this morning, for miles around. i don’t know what we shall do.”
two-legs sat and looked out over the water, where the wind had carried the skin away. far in the distance lay a great land that was ever so green.
“there’s good grass over there,” he said.
“what use is that to us?” replied the son. “there’s deep water and a rapid current in between. we could never get across.”
“which way is the wind blowing?” asked two-legs.
“towards the island,” said his son. “is it your intention that he should blow us across?”
“just so,” said two-legs, throwing off his cloak and standing up. “i have decided to take the wind into my service.”
the son stared at him without understanding a word of what his father said. but two-legs called all his family together and bade them put aside any work that they were doing. he set them to saw planks, to drag the planks down to the sea and to bind them firmly together into a big raft. next he told the men to put up a tall mast made of a young oak-tree, while the women sat and sewed hides together into a great sail. then they hoisted the sail to the top of the mast and fastened the ends below to the raft. the wind filled the sail, but the raft was tied to the shore with strong ropes, so that it could not get loose.
two-legs made all his family and all his cattle go on the raft. when the last had come on board, he let go. the wind stretched the big sail and bore them swiftly over the water. towards evening, they landed, rejoicing, on the good green land.
5
henceforward, one of two-legs’ sons devoted himself entirely to the raft. he rebuilt it and improved it, hit upon new methods of setting sail and invented a rudder to steer with. he made the raft taper in front, so that it cut more easily through the water. he put ballast at the bottom of it, so that it could not be readily upset by a sudden squall. he learnt to make use of the wind, even if it did not blow exactly the way it should. by degrees, he ventured to sail far out to sea and caught fish and came home again safe and sound.
but two-legs sat outside his tent again and thought:
“so i got you into my service after all,” he said to the wind, who was fanning his cheek. “but the end is not yet. you just wait. you will have to toil for me like the ox and the horse.”
“i have no objection,” said the wind. “i am what i am and what i do i must. catch me, conquer me, use me!”
two-legs sat and watched them bruise corn in the mill, so that it could be used for baking.
once, many years ago, he had hollowed out a stone and taught the women to bruise the corn in it with another stone. since then, he had thought of letting two stones grind one against the other. he had fixed a pole and harnessed an ox to it, who went round, turning the mill. at that time, he was awfully proud of his invention.
the ox was now going round and round patiently. but, as it happened, one of two-legs’ sons came and asked if the grinding could not wait, for he had a use for all the cattle out in the fields. the women said that this would not do, for they were short of flour for the baking. two-legs let them fight it out among themselves and sat and looked at the mill until evening.
“what are you thinking about?” asked the wind, who came and blew over his forehead as usual.
“that’s it!” said two-legs, springing up. “i have it! i put you to the raft and you carried me and all my belongings across to this green land. why should i not also put you to the mill?”
“catch me if you can!” said the wind.
6
next morning early, two-legs set to work. he built a big scaffold, which rose high in the air. at the top, he fixed four broad sails, which were covered with hides and fastened to an axle, so that they could whirl round and round easily. that was the cap of the mill. the mill-stones were put down at the bottom and were connected with the sails, by means of poles and ropes, in such a way that, when the sails whirled round and round, the stones turned. two-legs’ children stood wondering and looking at it.
“we are not ready yet,” said two-legs.
he arranged the cap so that it could turn and the sails catch the wind, whichever side it came from:
“now we’ll grind,” said two-legs.
and the wind came and turned the sails; and the mill ground that it was a joy to see. they poured the grain into the top of the mill and the fine, white flour dropped into sacks which they fastened underneath.
“i caught you again, friend wind,” said two-legs.
“i shall blow the other way to-morrow,” said the wind.
“indeed, i thought of that,” said two-legs. “i don’t mind if you do.”
when evening came, he turned the cap round. the next morning the wind came from the other side and had to grind just as briskly as the day before.
“i shall go down to-morrow,” said the wind.
“it’s only right that you should take a rest now and then,” said two-legs, pleasantly. “the horse and the ox do as much and so do the other beasts of burden in my service. i daresay you will get up again when you must.”
“who says i must?” said the wind.
“i don’t know,” said two-legs. “not yet. but i am meditating upon it and i shall find out sooner or later. you see, one hits upon everything by degrees, when one sits and looks at things. i know this much already, that it’s the sun that gives you your orders.”
“how do you know that?” asked the wind.
“i’ve noticed it,” said two-legs. “whenever it changes from cold to warm or from warm to cold, you blow from a fresh quarter.”
“what a clever man you are!” said the wind.
“it helps,” said two-legs.
“but there is still a hard nut for you to crack,” said the wind. “for, even if you can’t put me to your ship and your mill, i can come rushing up, for all that, as i did once before, and knock down the mill and smash up the ship and scatter your cattle all over the country.”
“you can,” said two-legs. “and i can’t be angry with you for it either, for you are neither bad nor good, as you said.”
“well, well, now i’m going down,” said, the wind. “and i don’t think i shall get up again for ever so many days. then your mill will stand still.”
“so it will,” said two-legs. “but i have thought of that, too. come over here and see.”
he went down to the brook and showed, the wind another mill which he had built. it had no sails, but a big wheel with wide floats, which went down into the water. the wheel was connected with the mill-stones in the same way as the sails and, as the water ran, the wheel turned and the mill-stones ground.
“that’s my water-mill,” said two-legs, proudly.
then he went into his tent and lay down to sleep, for it was late and all the others had gone to bed.
the wind lay down too, as he had said, and so they all lay and slept.
