The particular vines which were doing the talking were three large ones that hung close by the Doctor’s shoulder. In a very sudden and curious manner they had broken off in the middle of what they were saying like a person who had let something slip out in conversation which had been better left unsaid. Instantly a tremendous excitement was visible throughout all the creepers that hung around the gulch. You never saw such swaying, writhing, twisting and agitation. With squawks of alarm a number of brightly colored birds fluttered out of the curtain of leaves and flew away over the rocky shoulders above our heads. [Illustration: “_Every single seed was carefully dug up by long-billed birds_”] “What’s the matter?—What has happened, Doctor?” I asked as still more birds left the concealment of the creepers and disappeared in the distance. “I’ve no idea, Stubbins,” said he. “Some one has said a little too much, I fancy. Tell me,” he asked turning to the vines again: “Who is the President?” “The President of the Council,” they replied after a pause. “Yes, that I understand,” said the Doctor. “But what, who, is he?” For a little there was no answer, while the excitement and agitation broke out with renewed confusion among the long tendrils that draped the rocky alcove. Evidently some warnings and remarks were being exchanged which we were not to understand. At last the original vines which had acted as spokesmen in the conversation addressed John Dolittle again. “We are sorry,” they said, “but we have our orders. Certain things we have been forbidden to tell you.” “Who forbade you?” asked the Doctor. But from then on not a single word would they answer. The Doctor made several attempts to get them talking again but without success. Finally we were compelled to give it up and return to camp—which we reached very late. “I think,” said Polynesia, as the Doctor, Chee-Chee and I set about preparing the vegetarian supper, “that we sort of upset Society in the Moon this afternoon. Gracious, I never saw such a land in my life I—And I’ve seen a few. I suppose that by now every bumblebee and weed on the whole globe is talking about the Whispering Vines and the slip they made in mentioning the President. _President!_ Shiver my timbers! You’d think he were St. Peter himself! What are they making such a mystery about, I’d like to know?” “We’ll probably learn pretty soon now,” said the Doctor, cutting into a huge melon-like fruit. “I have a feeling that they won’t think it worthwhile to hold aloof from us much longer.—I hope not anyway.” [Illustration: “_Still more birds left the concealment of the creepers_”] “Me too,” said Chee-Chee. “Frankly, this secrecy is beginning to get under my skin. I’d like to feel assured that we are going to be given a passage back to Puddleby. For a while, anyway, I’ve had enough of adventure.”