“No,” said the little boy. “Do tell that, please!”

So the grandmother began:

Once upon a time there was a Bird which built her nest in a hedge, laid her eggs there, and began to brood over them. Now a little Fox got wind of the matter, and he thought to himself, “Aha! there’s a fine breakfast for me!” So he left the Bird to brood over her eggs, waiting for the time when the young ones should hatch out.

When that time came he paid a visit to the Bird, which was singing gayly in the hedge, and said to her:

“Good-morning, dear cousin. Oh, how beautiful you are and how sweet is your song! But still more enticing are your young ones in the nest, and I mean to eat them up!”

The little Bird answered, smiling, “Ah, ah, you are not as clever as I thought you, if you are thinking of eating these tiny birds! They would not make you a mouthful. Just wait awhile till they are grown; then come, and you may eat both them and me.”

So the Bird appointed a day, and Reinecke went off in high glee, whistling merrily.

In the meantime the Bird went to a Dog and promised him a delicious meal—nothing other than Reinecke, in fact—telling him that he had nothing to do but hide in the bushes on the appointed day, and he could easily master the Master. The Dog smiled blissfully at the news, saying:

“This is what I call a stroke of luck! I’ll tell you what, little Bird, I’ll hide in the bushes, and when Reinecke comes, do you beg him to let you sing one last song. Then perch yourself on a twig and sing out loud and clear. That shall be the signal for me, and I will spring out of my ambush, and—snap!—all will be over with Master Reinecke.”

When the appointed day arrived Reinecke came gleefully along, trolling this lay:

Well, Gossip, how goes it?”

“As well as possible,” answered the little Bird. “What I have promised I will perform; I have only one last boon to crave: let me sing my favorite song just once more!”

“Sing away, for all I care,” answered Reinecke; “only make it short.”

So the little Bird perched herself upon a twig and began her song. In a twinkling the Dog rushed out upon Reinecke, but the Master was on the alert and took to flight, with the Dog close upon his heels. At last Reinecke took refuge in a hole, while the Dog hid himself at the entrance, keeping up a sharp lookout.

Then Reinecke began to talk to himself, and said to his feet:

“Well, my fine feet, how have you got on?”

“Finely,” answered the feet; “we did our very best to outrun the Dog.”

“Good, good! You deserve all praise! And you, my good ears, how did you behave yourselves?”

“Very well; we listened most intently to know whether that dreadful Dog was close behind us.”

“Good! That was gallant! And how did you behave, my dear, sweet eyes?”

“Oh, we spied around in every direction to discover the first hole!”

“Bravo! That was good of you.” Then Reinecke looked at his long tail and asked:

“And how is it with you, my beautiful, long, bushy tail?”

And the tail answered, “Very badly; I am your steering rudder, and you rushed along so unmercifully, dragging me through bush and brier, that I am miserably scratched and torn. Really, I should not have been worse off if the Dog had caught me.”

“Aha!” cried Reinecke, in high displeasure, “so you are my open enemy, are you? All the others are faithful; you alone would willingly have betrayed me. Out with you, out, my declared foe! You shall no longer stay under the same roof with me!”

So Reinecke thrust his tail out of the hole. Snap!—the Dog had it between his teeth, dragged the Fox out of his retreat, tore him in pieces, and was thus rewarded for all his trouble. And the little birds were rid of their enemy.

“It was not nice of Reinecke to want to eat little birds,” said the little boy. “I think he deserved to be punished.”

“He got off without punishment another time,” observed the grandmother.

“How was that?” asked the little boy eagerly. “Won’t you tell me that story? Do! It is not supper-time.”

“No, it is not supper-time, and the story is a short one,” said the grandmother. “So I will tell you about

Once upon a time there was a Dove which built her nest in a high tree. Every year, about the time when her young ones were beginning to get feathers, Reinecke would come along and say to the Dove:

“Give me your young ones to eat; throw them down to me of your own accord, or I will gobble you up as well as them!”

The Dove, frightened at the threat, would throw down the young birds. Thus it had happened year after year.

Now one day, as the Dove sat most melancholy upon her nest, a Great Bird flew up and asked why she was so sad and down-cast. And the Dove answered that it was because Reinecke would soon come and eat up her young ones.

Upon this the Great Bird replied, “Oh, you goose! Why do you throw them down to him? Just bid your good friend to please give himself the trouble to come after them. Then you’ll soon see him sneak away with his tail between his legs, for Reinecke cannot climb a tree.”

So when the time came round and Reinecke again presented himself, the Dove said to him, “If you want meat for dinner, just be so kind as to come up and help yourself.”

When the Fox saw that he must go away empty he asked the Dove who had counselled her to speak thus, and she answered:

“That Great Bird that has a nest yonder near the stream.”

Reinecke at once betook himself to the stream and remonstrated with that Great Bird for building his nest in so exposed a place, asking what he did in case of a high wind.

The Great Bird answered, “When the wind blows from the right I turn to the left; when it blows from the left I turn to the right.”

“But what do you do when it blows from all sides?” asked the Fox.

“Then I stick my head under my wing,” said the Great Bird, showing how he did it. But quick as a wink, when the Great Bird stuck his head under his wing, the Master sprang upon him and seized him, saying:

“You know how to give counsel to others, but not to advise yourself!”

So he ate him up.

The little boy pondered this story for a while. At last he said, “Grandmother, why did that Great Bird say that Reinecke could not climb a tree? He has climbed a tree a great many times.”

“This one was not a story of this mir,” replied the grandmother. “It is a story from another mir, where my mother’s mother was born. The foxes there are different.”