A Fox and a Badger met in the mountains and made an alliance, agreeing that whichever of them found anything good to eat should share it with the other, like a brother.

Now the Master knew where there was a trap set and baited with a great piece of meat. He therefore led the Badger there and showed him the meat.

“See, dear nephew,” said he, “how your clever uncle has led you to a place where we can both have a grand feast. But you are more limber than I, so just slip gently in and pull out the meat, while I keep watch that the moujik who put it here does not suddenly catch us napping.”

The Badger agreed without further words. He slipped into the trap, and was about to pull the meat from the hook, when—snap!—his forefoot was fast in the trap. The Badger broke out into a howl of distress, “Help, uncle, help! I am lost!”

Reinecke ran quickly to the trap, but instead of freeing the Badger he at once began to gnaw the meat.

“Just have a little patience,” he said, “till I have eaten this morsel before some one comes from the village. Then I will pull your leg out of the trap.”

Now Graybeard saw plainly that the Master had played a trick upon him, and he quickly seized him by the nape of the neck. At this moment the moujik came running up, crying from afar, “Hold on, my falcon-badger! By my faith, I will not rumple a hair of your head!”

So the moujik killed the Fox and stripped off his skin, saying to the Badger, “You may go free; his skin is worth five kopeks, but yours only two. Go, in God’s name!”

“It wasn’t fair of Reinecke,” observed the little boy.

“No, it wasn’t fair, and so he got punished,” said the grandmother.

The little boy was silent for a few minutes. Then he said:

“Little grandma, I am not patient yet.”

“Oho!” said the grandmother, “if my stories don’t help you to be patient, there is no use in my telling them.”

“But they do help, grandmamma,” said the little boy. “I am a little patient now, just a very little. If you told me another story I should be more patient still.”

The grandmother laughed. Then she told the story of

A Stag and a Hedgehog were once standing upon a steep hill, and the Hedgehog invited the Stag to roll down with him into the ditch.

“Do you roll down first,” replied the Stag.

Without further words the Hedgehog rolled himself into a round ball and rolled down the slope. The Stag followed and broke his neck.

Then thought the Hedgehog, “What shall I do with you now?” At last the thought occurred to him to call a butcher, and he immediately set out to seek one. On the way he met a Fox.

“Whither away?” asked Reinecke; and the Hedgehog answered, “To seek a butcher.”

“Gossip,” said the Fox, “I am a butcher.”

“Then show me your teeth, Master,” said the Hedgehog.

Reinecke showed his teeth, but the Hedgehog told him they were not sharp enough, and went on his way.

After a while he met a Wolf, who asked him, “Whither away, Gossip?”

“To seek a butcher,” said the Hedgehog.

“I am a butcher, sure enough,” said the Wolf.

“Then show me your tools.”

Isegrim showed his teeth, and the Hedgehog, well pleased, said to him, “Follow me, then.”

The Wolf followed him, and they came to the dead Stag. In a trice the Wolf had torn him in pieces, and inviting all his kindred to the feast, he gave each of them a fine morsel, and kept a whole leg for himself, without the least consideration for the Hedgehog.

“Well, and what am I to get?” asked the Hedgehog, quite vexed; and the Wolf replied, “The entrails.”

This seemed to the Hedgehog very unfair, and he began to reason with Isegrim. But the Wolf only answered, “If you aren’t satisfied, go to the judge and make a complaint.”

So the Hedgehog went to seek a judge, and the Wolf followed after. Now the Hedgehog knew where there was a trap, and he led Isegrim in that direction. The Hedgehog tapped lightly upon the knocker, but this quite disgusted Isegrim.

“Wait, let me knock!” said he, and he thumped with all the strength of his paw. So he was caught, and the Hedgehog ran away laughing.

The story is done.

“It is done too quick, little grandmother,” observed the little boy after a moment’s thought. “I am not patient yet.”

“Then my medicine is not the right kind,” said the grandmother. “Run away home and hold some yarn for your sister. I heard her say that she was going to knit some warm mittens for you to wear on the journey. Holding yarn is an excellent school for patience.”