Once upon a time Reinecke kneaded mud-cakes, baked them, and spread them with honey. When they were all ready he betook himself to the turkey-tenders and begged them to give him a turkey in exchange for his honey-cakes. The turkey-tenders were not to be so easily hoaxed, and they sent him to the swine-herds, assuring him that the swine-herds would give him a sucking pig for his honey-cakes.

He therefore sought the swine-herds and begged for a sucking pig in exchange for his cakes. The swine-herds would give him none, but sent him to the cow-herds, who might give him a calf in exchange for the cakes. So he went to the cow-herds and begged them to give him a calf and take his honey-cakes in exchange.

The cow-herds declined, and sent him to the stable-boys, who would surely give him a colt in exchange for the honey-cakes. So he went to the stable-boys and offered to exchange his honey-cakes for a colt. They gave him a beautiful colt and took in exchange the honey-cakes. So Reinecke went away, leading the colt, and leaving with the stable-boys a strict injunction on no account to break one of the cakes until he should have disappeared behind a certain hill.

The stable-boys obeyed the behest, but when they afterward tried the cakes and broke their teeth upon them, they perceived that they were made of clay, and they at once set off in pursuit of the Fox. But Master Reinecke had so much the start of them that they were obliged to turn back, weary and overheated, having had their trouble for their pains.

Now when Reinecke reached home he made a stall of wicker-work for the colt, and devoted himself entirely to the care of him. Day after day he brought him green, juicy grass and cool, refreshing drink, and whenever he brought them he always called to the colt in these words:

Then the colt would open the door. Reinecke gave the colt very strict instructions on no account to open the door to any other voice or words.

One day Isegrim came. He had often heard Reinecke call to the colt to open the door, and now he began to call in his coarse voice:

But the colt at once perceived that this was not Reinecke’s voice, and it did not stir to open the door.

Then Isegrim hid himself cunningly behind the stable-wall to wait for a better chance.

Pretty soon along came Reinecke with grass and water. As soon as he reached the stable he cried in his soft treble voice:

The colt recognized the voice, opened the door at once, and began to tell how some one had been there and asked him to open the door, but he had not opened because the voice sounded rough. Upon this Reinecke said, “On no account open the door to a rough voice, but only to a soft one.”

The next day, when Reinecke was gone, along came Isegrim, who had overheard the whole conversation from behind the stable-wall. He crouched down as low as possible, and cried, in a very soft voice:

The unhappy colt was deceived and opened the door. Alas! Isegrim fell upon him, seized him by the throat, and ate him up—all but the head and the tail, which he left lying there. Then he made off, having closed the door behind him, that nothing might be seen from without.

When Reinecke came home he began to call, as usual:

But no one asked him in nor opened the door. So he peeped in between the osiers, and when he saw nothing in the stall but the colt’s head and tail he knew all that had happened and had not the least doubt as to who had brought this great misfortune upon him. He tore the door open and set up a long, woe-begone howl. Then he went out quite heart-broken and laid himself down in the road for dead.

After a while a man came by in a wagon, and finding Reinecke in the road he picked him up and threw him into the wagon, intending to strip off his skin as soon as he reached home. Now this man had three cheeses in a knapsack in his wagon, and presently Reinecke roused himself from his feigned death, arose softly, stole the three cheeses out of the knapsack, and made off. As soon as he had reached a safe distance he devoured two of the cheeses and went on his way, holding the third under his chin.

In the course of his travels he met friend Isegrim, who had eaten his beloved colt. Isegrim no sooner saw Reinecke with the cheese than his mouth began to water, and he asked him how he had come by it. Then Reinecke, truthful as usual, replied that he had sucked it up out of a brook.

“And where may that brook be found?” asked Isegrim hastily.

“Follow me,” answered Reinecke; “I will lead you to it.”

Now it happened that this meeting took place at the full of the moon, about midnight, and a beautiful, star-bestrewn sky shed a magical half-darkness over everything. Reinecke led Isegrim to a brook and, showing him the reflection of the moon mirrored in the flowing water, said:

“Do you see that great cheese there in the water? Now suck up the water in great gulps and you will suck up the cheese at last, just as I did.”

So simple Isegrim sucked up the water in great gulps, until it began to run out at his ears. Reinecke very kindly plugged up his ears and cried to him:

“Keep on sucking, dear Isegrim; you’ll soon have it!”

Simple Isegrim went at it again, and sucked until the water ran out of his eyes. At once Reinecke stopped up his eyes, crying again:

“Keep on, dear Isegrim, you’ll soon have it now!”

Poor Isegrim sucked on, until the water ran out at his nose. Then Reinecke stopped up his nose and climbed upon his back, saying he was sick and could not walk, and Isegrim must carry him.

The Wolf, in very woful plight, set out to carry the Fox, when Reinecke tuned up and sang:

And he kept on repeating the same words until Isegrim asked:

“What’s that you’re singing, cousin?”

“Nothing, nothing, dear Isegrim; they are only the fantasies of illness!” and he kept up his song:

So it went on till they came to a house where a wedding was being celebrated. When the wedding-guests heard Reinecke’s song they came out of the house and praised his singing. Thereupon he said that he could sing a better song than that if they would let him go into the house and up into the loft. To this they agreed.

When Isegrim, with all the trouble in the world, had carried Reinecke up into the loft, which was floored only with loose planks, then Reinecke opened all the places he had plugged up, and the water ran out of Isegrim’s eyes and ears and nose and poured down through the cracks upon the wedding-guests below. The guests ran nimbly up into the loft, but Reinecke still more nimbly made his escape through the window, while Isegrim was half-beaten to death by the enraged wedding-guests and his body thrown out into the road.

Then Reinecke came creeping back and taunted Isegrim. “This long time I have been wearing out shoe-leather to get the best of you, because you ate up my colt!”

And with these words away he went, leaving Isegrim to his fate.

“That served Isegrim right,” said the little boy. “He had no business to eat up Reinecke’s little colt.”