Autumn morning on the wide river, and the tide was out. On the pale sandbar, white with feathery grass, Clam lay open in the sun — and inside her shell glowed her one great treasure, a pearl. Far down the sand, hungry Crane went stalking.
Crane spotted that soft open shell. Breakfast! Down he swooped — PECK! And SNAP — Clam slammed shut on his long bill, tight as stone. "Leggo!" mumbled Crane. "Shan't!" said Clam.
Crane pulled. Clam gripped. "No rain today, no rain tomorrow — and you'll dry to a chip on this sand!" "I won't let go today, I won't let go tomorrow — and you'll go hungry!" Neither would give an inch.
The sun rolled west. Still they tugged, and still they gripped — far too busy quarrelling to look up even once. So neither of them saw what you can see: a fisherman with his net, wading closer and closer.
The fisherman could hardly believe his luck. "Two stubborn ones for the price of one!" he laughed — and scoop, into his basket they went. The lid came down. Clack.
Inside, the dark. One thin ribbon of moonlight slid through the woven cane. After a long while Clam whispered, "Your bill… does it hurt?" — and let go. Crane hung his head. "I pecked first," he said softly. "Forgive me, sister."
At first light the basket thumped down — and now the two moved as one. Clam pushed her hard shell into a gap in the cane; Crane's long bill pushed up at the lid. Creak — OPEN! Splash — home to the river! Only the pearl stayed behind, rolling in the bottom of the basket.
Morning found them side by side on their own sandbar. Only Clam's shell stood empty now — the pearl never came back. Crane said gently, "When two quarrel, both lose — and a stranger walks away with the prize."