understand all the voices, it amused her to listen to the wrangles of the
Flying Foxes, as they ate the fruit of a wild fig tree near by. She saw
them swoop past on their huge black wings with a solemn flapping. Then,
as each little Fox approached the tree, the Foxes who were there already
screamed, and swore in dreadfully bad language at the visitor. For every
little Fox on the tree was afraid some other Flying Fox would eat all the
figs, and as each visitor arrived he was assailed with cries of, "Get away
you're not wanted here!"

"This is my branch, my figs!"

"Go and find figs for yourself!"

"These figs are not half ripe like the juicy ones on the
other side of the tree!"

Then the new-comer Flying Fox, with a spiteful squeal, would pounce down
on a branch already occupied, and angry spluttering and screams would
arise, followed by a heavy fall of fighting Foxes tumbling with a crash
through the trees. Then out into the open sky swept dozens of black wings,
accompanied by abusive swearing from dozens of wicked little brown Foxes;
and, as they settled again on the tree, all the fighting would begin again,
so that the squealing, screaming, and swearing never ended.

As Dot was listening to the fighting of the Flying Foxes, she heard a
sound near her that alarmed her greatly. It was impossible to say what
the noise was like. It might have been the braying of a donkey mixed up
with the clattering of palings tumbled together, and with grunts and
snorts. Dot started to her feet in fright, and would have run away, only
she was afraid of being lost worse than ever, so she stood still and