menu_book Chapter 15

CHAPTER XV. A BOOK OF FAIRY-TALE FOXES. By Clifton Johnson. The Fox and His Five Hungry Comrades. Once upon a time there was a man and his wife who dwelt in a little house far away from

many neighbors. But the loneliness of their situation did not trouble them, and they would have been perfectly happy if it had not been for a Martin who came nearly every night to their poultry yard and carried off one of their fowls. The man contrived all sorts of traps to catch the thief, but the Martin was clever enough

to avoid them. At last the man stumbled over one of his own traps in the dusk of a winter evening, and his head against a stone, and was killed. Not long afterward the Martin came along on the lookout for supper. He saw the man lying there lifeless, and he said,

Here is a prize. I must see if I can get this man away into the forest before he is found. A light sledge stood nearby, and with great effort the Martin got the man on to it and began to drag the sledge towards the forest. He had not gone far when he met a squirrel.

Good evening, the squirrel remarked with a bow. What is it that you are dragging behind you? The Martin laughed and said, Did you ever hear of anything strange? I am drawing a sledge with a dead man on it.

This man set traps about his hen-house, thinking to catch me. But I was too sly for him, and to-night he stumbled over one of his own traps and was killed. He is very heavy. I wish you would help me draw the sledge.

The squirrel was quite willing to help, and the sledge moved slowly along. By and by a hare came running across the near field and stopped to find out what the Martin and the squirrel were dragging on the sledge. What have you got there? he asked, and the Martin told his story and begged the hare to help pull.

So the hare took hold and pulled his hardest. After a while a fox joined them, and then a wolf, and lastly a bear. The bear was so large and strong that he was of more use in pulling the sledge than all the other five beasts put together. They went on until they were deep into the forest.

Then they ate the man, and for a time their appetite was satisfied. But at length they began to get hungry again, and the wolf, who is all the hungriest of all, said, What shall we eat now, my friends? I suppose we shall have to eat the smallest of us, the bear replied. Yes, that is what we will do, the wolf said.

I quite agree with the bear and the wolf, the fox affirmed. So do I, the hare declared. Those are my sentiments too, the Martin said, and he turned around to seize the squirrel, who was smaller than any of the others. But the squirrel ran up a tree quick as a flash.

Then the Martin remembered that he was next in size, and he hastily slipped into a hole in the rocks. What shall we do now? the wolf asked, when he had recovered from his surprise. We must eat the smallest of us, the bear said, and stretched out a paw towards the

hare. But the hare darted away into the woods before the bear's paw touched him. Now that the squirrel, the Martin, and the hare were gone, the fox was the smallest of the three who were left. The wolf and the bear explained that they were very sorry, but they would have to eat

him. Instead of making an attempt to escape, the fox smiled at the other two and remarked, Why should you eat here? One's appetite is much better on a mountain. You are right, the bear agreed, and as there is a mountain close at hand, we will climb

it before we begin feasting. They started at once and chose a path that led up to the mountainside. The fox trotted surefully along with his two big companions, but presently managed to whisper to the wolf, Tell me what you will have for your next meal after I am eaten. This question disturbed the wolf very much.

What would they have for their next meal, and who would be there to eat it? They had made a rule, always to dine off the smallest of the party, and certainly he was smaller than the bear. Those thoughts flashed through his head, and he hastened to say, Dear brothers, would it not be better for us to live together as comrades than to devour each other?

We could hunt and bring in the game and all share it. Is not my plan a good one? Nothing could be better, the fox responded. The bear would very much have preferred a good dinner at once to any friendship, but the others were two to one, and he had to be content.

For some time all went smoothly. The three companions secured plenty of game and had all they wanted to eat. They got through the winter very well, and then they dissolved their partnership and returned to their homes. A few weeks later the fox was wandering one morning in the forest when he noticed a magpie's

nest in the top branches of a tall slender tree. He was particularly fond of young magpies, and he considered how he could get one for his dinner. At last he thought of a plan that seemed promising, and he sat down near the tree and began to stare hard at it.

The magpie was watching him from a bow, and she asked, What are you looking at, Mr. Fox? I'm looking at this tree, he replied. I intend to make some new snowshoes, and this is just the right tree to cut them out of. The magpie screeched with alarm when she heard him say that. Oh, don't use this tree!

I implore you, dear brother, she exclaimed. I have built my nest in it, and my young ones are not yet old enough to fly. It would not be easy to find another tree that would make such good snowshoes, the fox responded, and he cocked his head on the side and gazed at the tree thoughtfully. But I did not like to be inconsiderate, he continued, so if you will give me one of your

young ones, I will seek my snowshoes elsewhere. The magpie did not know what else to do, and she agreed. Then she flew to her nest with a heavy heart and pushed out one of her young ones. The fox seized it in his mouth and ran off in triumph, while the magpie, though deeply grieved for the loss of her little one, found some comfort in the thought that only a bird

of extraordinary wisdom would have dreamed of saving the rest by the sacrifice of one. However, not many days had passed when the fox again came and sat under that same tree and stared at it steadfastly. A dreadful pang shot through the heart of the magpie as she peeped at him from a hole in the nest.

What are you looking at? she asked in a trembling voice. What is this tree? he answered. I was just thinking what good snowshoes it would make. Oh, my dear brother, do go away! the magpie cried, and she hopped away in anguish.

You know it was only the other day that you promised to get your snowshoes somewhere else. So I did, the fox acknowledged. But though I have searched far and wide, I cannot find a single tree that is good as this. I am sorry to disturb you, but really it is not my fault.

The only thing I can do for you is to promise to continue my search for a suitable tree if you will give me another of your young ones. The poor magpie felt obliged to push a second of her young ones out of the nest, and she had not a consolation now of thinking that she was cleverer than other people. After the fox left, she sat on the edge of her nest, her head drooping and her feathers

all ruffled, looking very miserable. Indeed, she was so different from the gay, jaunty magpie whom every creature in the forest knew that a crow flying past stopped to find out what the matter was. He looked in the nest and said, There should be two more young ones in there. Where are they?

I had to give them to a fox, the magpie replied. He has been here twice in the last week, and he was going to cut down my tree and make snowshoes out of it. Each time I had to give him one of my young ones to save the tree. Oh, you foolish bird! the crow cried.

The fox could not have cut down a tree. He has neither axe nor knife. He was only trying to frighten you, dear me, to think that you have sacrificed your young ones for nothing. Where are your brains?

Then the crow flew away, leaving the magpie overcome with shame and sorrow. The next morning the fox returned to play his old trick on the magpie. But this time, instead of a cowering timid bird, he found one with head erect and a determined voice. You sly fox, she said, until you show me the axe or the knife you propose to use in cutting down this tree, you waste words in telling me that you intend to make snowshoes of it.

Who has been giving you good advice? the fox asked. A crow who visited me yesterday, the magpie replied. A crow, was it? the fox said. Well, he had better not meet me, or it may be the worst for him.

The fox had no desire to continue the conversation with the magpie, and he went away. By and by he came forth from the forest into the open country and stretched himself out in a road just as if he were dead. Very soon he noticed, as he watched from the corner of his eye, that a crow was flying toward him.

There he lay stiff and still with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. The crow, who wanted something to eat very badly, alighted nearby and hopped along until he was close to the motionless renard. And I wonder if this is a fox the magpie was telling me about, he said. Well, here the vandal is dead.

The fellow has met the fate he deserved quicker than I would have expected. After looking at him first with one eye and then with the other, the crow stooped forward to peck at his tongue. Instantly the fox gave a snap and caught the intruder by the wing. The crow knew it was of no use to struggle, and he said,

Brother fox, if you are really going to eat me, I beg you at least to do so in good style. Close by is a preposis. Why not first throw me over so my feathers will be scattered about as I tumble down the rocks. Then all who see them will know that your cunning is greater than mine.

This idea pleased the fox, who had a special grudge against the crow for depriving him of the young magpies. So he carried him to the edge of the preposis and threw him over, intending to go around by a path he knew and pick him up at the bottom. But no sooner was the wily bird released from the fox's jaws than he checked his fall by

waving his wings. Then he hovered just out of the reach of his enemy and said jarringly, Ha, fox, you know well enough to know how to catch, but you cannot keep. The fox turned away and slunk into the forest with his tail between his legs. He did not think now there was much prospect of his catching any game that day, for the

crow was sure to fly back ahead of him and put all the animals on their guard. Presently he met his old friend, the bear. Bruin's wife had died the night before, and he had started out that morning to get someone to mourn over. He had not gone very far from his comfortable cave when he came across the wolf.

Where are you going? The wolf inquired. My wife has just died, and I am going to find a mourner, the bear replied. I'll be mourned for you, the wolf said. Do you understand how to howl?

The bear asked. Certainly, certainly, the wolf assured him. Well, I wish you would favor me with a specimen of your howling to make sure that you know your business, the bear said. So the wolf broke forth in a song of lament.

Hoo, hoo, hoo, ho, hum, he shouted, and he made such a noise that the bear put his paws up to his ears and begged him to stop. You have no idea how to do it, the bear growled angrily. Be off with you. A little farther on, the hare was resting in a ditch.

He saw the bear come out and spoke to him. Why do you look so sad, he inquired. My wife has died, the bear answered. And I am searching for a mourner who can lament over her properly. I will gladly do the lamenting for you, the hare said.

Before I accept your kind offer, the bear responded, I would like to have you give me a proof of your talents. Poo, poo, poo, pum, po, the hare piped, but he had such a weak, small voice that the bear could hardly hear him. No, that is not what I want, the bear said.

I will bid you good morning. A little later in the day he met the fox, and the fox also observed the bear's altered looks and stopped to speak with him. What does it matter with you, the fox asked. My wife has died, and I am seeking for a mourner, the bear answered.

I will do the mourning, the fox said. Bruin looked at him thoughtfully. Can you howl well, he questioned. Yes, beautifully, the fox declared. Just listen, and he lifted up his voice and he cried.

Loo, loo, loo, Mrs. Mariner, the famous spinner, the baker of toothsome cakes, the prudent housekeeper is torn from her husband. Loo, loo, loo, she is gone, she is gone. Now at last I have found someone who understands the art of lamentation, the bear exclaimed with a grunt of satisfaction.

Come with me to my cave. So he led the way to his cave and showed the fox the body of Mrs. Bear lying on a bed of moss. There he left Renard to mourn while he went outside and started a fire that he might cook some soup for the mourner.

Presently the bear bethought himself that he did not hear any of the howling lamentation he was expecting. Fatal in hand he entered the cave and there, to his horror, he found the fox eating the dead bear instead of wailing over her. The fox dashed out of the door and the bear threw his ladle at him, but the fox escaped

unhurt. That ended whatever friendship had existed between the bear and the fox, and they never had anything to do with each other afterward. End of chapter 15