one day, this good, kind, wonderful Comb was lost. The boy had been playing and romping until he had got his hair into a regular tangle. But no sooner did the nurse start to comb it than the boy began to cry and scream, "Where is my own Comb?" and would not let any one touch his hair with any comb but his.
At last the Comb was found. But when they tried to draw it through his hair, it could not be moved either backward or forward; all it did was to pull his hair out by the roots, and bring tears of pain to his eyes.
"How wicked you are, you bad old Comb!" cried the boy. But the Comb replied:
"My dear boy, I am the same Comb that I always was; only your hair has become badly tangled." Whereupon our foolish young friend in his rage flung his Comb out of the window into the river.
So long as men have a clear conscience they love to hear the truth, as the little boy loved his Comb. It is only when our consciences become tangled that the truth begins to hurt.
(Krilov, Fables. Adapted from the translation by William R. S. Ralston.)
THE EAGLE AND THE WORM
UPON the summit of a lofty rock,
An Eagle chanced to espy
A Worm; whom thus he 'gan in taunting tone to mock:
"Reptile! What raised thee thus high?
How haps it I so vile a creature see
Perched on the same eminence with me.
Here daring to abide?"
"By my own strength," the Worm replied.
