When the Teacher had finished this discourse, in illustration of what he had said (“That this wood is not passed over by the fire is not a result, O monks, of my present power; but of the power of the Act of Truth I exercised as a new-born quail”), he proclaimed the Truths. At the conclusion of the Truths some were Converted, some reached the Second Path, some the Third, some the Fourth. And the Teacher made the connexion, and summed up the Jātaka, “My parents at that time were my present parents, but the King of the Quails was I myself.” END OF THE STORY OF THE HOLY QUAIL.[332] No. 36. SAKUṆA JĀTAKA. The Wise Bird and the Fools. “_The earth-born tree._”--This the Master told when at Jetavana, about a monk whose hut was burned. A certain monk, says the tradition, received from the Teacher a subject for meditation, and leaving Jetavana, took up his abode in a dwelling in a forest near a border village, belonging to the people of Kosala. Now in the very first month his hut was burned down; and he told the people, saying, “My hut is burnt down, and I live in discomfort.” “Our fields are all dried up now,” said they; “we must first irrigate the lands.” When they were well muddy, “We must sow the seed,” said they. When the seed was sown, “We must put up the fences,” was the excuse. When the fences were up, they declared, “There will be cutting, and reaping, and treading-out to do.” And thus, telling first of one thing to be done and then of another, they let three months slip by. The monk passed the three months in discomfort in the open air, and concluded his meditation, but could not bring the rest of his religious exercise to completion. So when Lent was over he returned to the Teacher, and saluting him, took his seat respectfully on one side. The Teacher bade him welcome, and then asked him, “Well, brother, have you spent Lent in comfort? Have you brought your meditation to its conclusion?” He told him what had happened, and said, “As I had no suitable lodging, I did not fully complete the meditation.” “Formerly, O monk,” said the Teacher, “even animals were aware what was suitable for them, and what was not. Why did not you know it?” And he told a tale. * * * * * Long ago, when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benāres, the Bodisat came to life again as a bird, and lived a forest life, attended by a flock of birds, near a lofty tree, with branches forking out on every side. Now one day dust began to fall as the branches of the tree rubbed one against another. Then smoke began to rise. The Bodisat thought, on seeing this,-- “If these two branches go on rubbing like that they will send out sparks of fire, and the fire will fall down and seize on the withered leaves; and the tree itself will soon after be consumed. We can’t stop here; we ought to get away at once to some other place.” And he addressed the flock in this verse: