Gaffer was still sitting there, looking very wise: and Jetsom asked him who had done them this bad turn, and why. “My dear young friend,” said Gaffer, with an ill-concealed leer, “these are little troubles that we have all had to go through. It’s only fun, you may be sure. Some of those idle young birds have been amusing themselves at your expense. Don’t be disheartened: begin again.” “Thank you, you dear, kind old bird,” said Jetsom’s wife. “How good of you to take such an interest in us. May I have a little talk with you some day about the problems of life?” Gaffer was overpoweringly polite. “My dear,” he said, “you do me great honour. I shall be delighted to discuss them with you. But perhaps you will solve them for yourselves.” And he seemed to leer at her with his vacant eye, while he winked the other at a friend in a tree hard by. The work began again next day; the same thing happened again, and again Gaffer encouraged them to persevere. Next day Jetsom stayed on guard, while his wife collected sticks. Seeing this, Gaffer took himself off, and only returned to find, to his extreme delight, his victim in a very ruffled state, the other rooks in possession of all his sticks, and his wife in very low spirits. She appealed to him to protect them. “My dear,” said Gaffer, “this is one of the problems of life. You are now beginning to face the facts of the world. Go on, persevere, and sooner or later you will solve the problems.” The luckless pair took his advice once more, and day after day went on collecting their sticks, only to find them stolen directly their backs were turned. If one remained on guard, battles ensued; and Gaffer could hardly repress his delight when he saw Jetsom’s feathers begin to fall off in these fights. Several times he had to retire by himself to a distant tree, to enjoy his revenge in solitude.