So his Granny said he was a good boy, and put him into the corn-bin, and there the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven days, and ate, and ate, and ate, until he could scarcely waddle, and his Granny said he was fat enough for anything, and must go home. But cunning little Lambikin said that would never do, for some animal would be sure to eat him on the way back, he was so plump and tender. "I'll tell you what you must do," said Master Lambikin, "you must make a little drumikin out of the skin of my little brother who died, and then I can sit inside and trundle along nicely, for I'm as tight as a drum myself." So his Granny made a nice little drumikin out of his brother's skin, with the wool inside, and Lambikin curled himself up snug and warm in the middle, and trundled away gayly. Soon he met with the Eagle, who called out: "Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?" And Mr. Lambikin, curled up in his soft warm nest, replied: "Lost in the forest, and so are you, On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!" "How very annoying!" sighed the Eagle, thinking regretfully of the tender morsel he had let slip. Meanwhile Lambikin trundled along, laughing to himself, and singing: "Tum-pa, tum-too; Tum-pa, tum-too!" Every animal and bird he met asked him the same question: "Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?" And to each of them the little sly-boots replied: "Lost in the forest, and so are you, On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too; Tum-pa, tum-too; tum-pa, tum-too!" Then they all sighed to think of the tender little morsel they had let slip. At last the Jackal came limping along, for all his sorry looks as sharp as a needle, and he too called out: "Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?" And Lambikin, curled up in his snug little nest, replied gayly: "Lost in the forest, and so are you, On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa--" But he never got any further, for the Jackal recognized his voice at once, and cried: "Hullo! you've turned yourself inside out, have you? Just you come out of that!" Whereupon he tore open Drumikin and gobbled up Lambikin. 181 The next story, dealing with the idea of "measure for measure," is from Mary Frere's _Old Deccan Days_. Miss Frere spent many years in India, where her father was a government official. She took down the tales as told by her _ayah_, or lady's maid, who in turn had heard them from her hundred-year-old grandmother. It may be said of this story that while retaliation is certainly not the highest law of conduct, yet the ungracious, inconsiderate action of the jackal makes it impossible to feel the least sympathy for him. TIT FOR TAT