“But plead as they would, the voice came no more. And, strangely enough, they never heard it again. They returned to the plain the very next night, but the hole in the great rock had been closed. They waited until long after midnight—but not one single sound came to greet them. Never had there been such a mystery and it was talked of for hours upon hours and days upon days. Time after time the animals came to the great rock and, always, in quest of the voice that was stilled. As they lingered, night after night, in the hope that it might come again, the various animals told their own favorite stories. And then, little by little, the different ones began listening to those that yet others told. This made for friendships and, one memorable night, a certain monkey made bold to suggest that at least once every week some particular animal be selected to tell one story to all. The thought was approved and so, as time passed along, this trysting place came to be known by a name that is loved by every animal in Jungleland. And what, do you suppose, is it called?” “The Story Time Rock,” spoke up Lion. “Why, yes!” answered the Pretty Lady. “But how did you know, Lion?” “I’ve heard my grandfather tell of it. But he always finished by saying there were none who ever solved the mystery of the voice that was stilled.” “No, no one ever did,” said the Lady. “Yet, like so many things that are thought to be mysteries, it was really simple enough.” “Then, for goodness’ sake, tell us the secret!” cried Monkey, “for I’m just bursting to know.” “Why, it was like this: Long before Vargu—” “The Watch! The Watch! The Petal Watch!” broke in Diggeldy Dan. “A thousand pardons, Pretty Lady, but it’s almost closed!” “So it is,” cried she, jumping to her feet. “We’ve not a moment to lose. “Back to your places, every one of you,” she added, as she bounded to her seat on the White-White Horse, “until half after twilight to-morrow, when I’ll come to tell you the rest.” And with a hurried “Sleep tight” and a last silvery laugh, she sped away toward her home in the west. CHAPTER X IN WHICH THE PRETTY LADY TELLS OF MYSTERIES AND SPANGLES “Well,” said Tiger, as he folded his paws in a most complacent manner, “I’m ready.” “We, also,” declared Elephant, speaking for his entire family, who, having formed a line, were just at that moment swaying backward and forward quite as if they were about to glide into the graceful maze of a waltz. “So are all of us,” commented Lion, as he surveyed the great group from his station before it. “I wonder what can be keeping the Pretty Lady?”