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Many years ago, when I was still a little girl, I was picking flowers one evening in front of my father's house. Suddenly I was frightened by a very usual figure. I ran to my parents, screaming at the top of my voice. My father was first to come to my aid and I gasped out a brief explanation, pointing in the direction where the figure stood still, as if to show that he meant no harm.
My father soon found out that I was not hurt but simply scared by a beggar. I had never seen a beggar before, but took him to be one of the ghosts I had heard so much about. He was dressed in very dirty rags and his hair, which had not been cut for many months, lay in a disheveled mass on his head.
My attitude changed completely when my father told me that he was a friend. I even began to enjoy his strange appearance. But the beggar wanted something to eat. My father went into the house and soon returned with a loaf of bread and a few shillings, which he handed to the beggar. The man muttered many praises and blessings on my father and his family and disappeared as he had come.
If my father thought that was the end of the matter, he was mistaken. I did not care about the money he gave away, but why should he deprive me of the bread I would have had for supper? It was more than I could bear, and I began to cry for my lost bread. I was not prepared to accept any substitute and kicked it away when it was offered. At last, my father said, "Do not cry anymore, my daughter. The beggar will help us one day in quite a different way."
"He cannot help us!" I sobbed. "Didn't he say he was a poor man and had nothing to eat?"
"Tonight I shall tell you a story, " my father replied. One hot January afternoon, however, they were brought together by a very unhappy incident. Some unknown person, either by accident or design, set the village on fire. The fire spread rapidly through the harmattan-dry bushes and soon raged in uncontrollable fury. All the inhabitants of the village ran for their lives. The bird left her nestlings and flew into the air; the rat cut short his search for nuts and sought refuge in a hole burrowed deep in the earth; the timid hare was the first to flee when the distant cry of alarm reached his ears; even the grasshopper was able to hop away. It was at this moment of panic, a moment when to delay was to die, that the Spider and the Zebra met for the first time. This meeting was of great importance, not only to poor Mother Spider but also to the Zebra, as we shall see. "Sir," said the Spider in a plaintive voice, "please save me or I shall die. In a few moments I shall be encircled by fire, and that will be the end of me. I can neither fly nor run; I am helpless. If you save me now, you can come to me for help in time of need." "Madam," the Zebra replied somewhat haughtily, I shall help you, not because I think that so weak a person can ever repay me, but because it is in my habit to do good." Thereupon he lowered his head and allowed the Spider to climb on his neck. He galloped away from the scene of the great fire, thereby saving them both from a gruesome death. Several months had passed, and the little village was once more overgrown with the luxuriant green grasses of the early rainy season. The ground was soft, much to the advantage of hunters who could track down their game by following their footmarks. One day, one of the hunters discovered the tracks leading to the Zebra's dwelling. "What a lucky day!" he thought. "These marks are so fresh that I am sure they were made within the hour." He was right. Had he acted on his first impulses, all would have been over for the Zebra. But as it happened he decided to abandon the search that day and continue it the next with two or three of his friends. That way, he thought, there would be less of the victim escaping. The hunters met the same day. As luck would have it, the Spider was within earshot and overhead everything they discussed. It was agreed that the Zebra would be shot early the following day. No sooner had they gone than the Spider hurried to the Zebra as fast as her legs could carry her. "Zebra, your life is in grave danger," she began and quickly told him all she had heard. It frightened him immensely, and he shook like a reed. At first, he thought of running away from his house, but that would be useless. The hunters would be on his track all the same. Then the Spider offered help. "Small and weak though I am," she said, "I think I can help you." She did not explain what she intended to do. She only asked the Zebra to leave his house immediately and hide himself a reasonable distance from home. "What of my tracks?" he asked. "The hunters will find it easy to trace me by following them." "Just go, and ask no questions," the Spider ordered. The Zebra could not choose but obey and galloped away at an amazing speed. A few days later, the Spider and the Zebra were talking happily together in the Zebra's new home. "How did you do it, madam?" he asked. "Well, I worked through the night and the early hours of the day. I was able to make your footprints look at least a month old. When the hunters saw them, they were disappointed. I hid nearby and heard one of them say that they could have been made a century ago! They went away cursing." "But how did you do it?" the Zebra repeated. "Why," said she, "I covered them with my webs of course!" The Zebra was not a little surprised by his friend's clever trick, but he did not know how to thank her. "Do not try!" said the Spider. "Remember your kindness to me. One good turn deserves another." Editor: @pangoli, for the community!
That was satisfactory, for if I liked anything in those days it was story-telling. As soon as supper was over, I went to him for the promised tale, one designed to show that every man, no matter how insignificant, can be useful.
