On one of the upper branches of the Congo river lived an ancient and
aristocratic family of hippopotamuses, which boasted a pedigree
dating back beyond the days of Noah--beyond the existence of
mankind--far into the dim ages when the world was new.

They had always lived upon the banks of this same river, so that
every curve and sweep of its waters, every pit and shallow of its
bed, every rock and stump and wallow upon its bank was as familiar
to them as their own mothers. And they are living there yet, I
suppose.

Not long ago the queen of this tribe of hippopotamuses had a child
which she named Keo, because it was so fat and round. Still, that
you may not be misled, I will say that in the hippopotamus language
"Keo," properly translated, means "fat and lazy" instead of fat and
round. However, no one called the queen's attention to this error,
because her tusks were monstrous long and sharp, and she thought Keo
the sweetest baby in the world.

He was, indeed, all right for a hippopotamus. He rolled and played
in the soft mud of the river bank, and waddled inland to nibble the
leaves of the wild cabbage that grew there, and was happy and
contented from morning till night. And he was the jolliest
hippopotamus that ancient family had ever known. His little red eyes
were forever twinkling with fun, and he laughed his merry laugh on
all occasions, whether there was anything to laugh at or not.