The Fox and the Woodcutter

The woodcutter's axe was halfway through an oak when a fox burst out of the trees with his ears flat. "The hounds are coming!" he panted. "Please, show me a safe place to hide!"

"In my hut," said the woodcutter. So the fox crept in and curled up in a dark corner.

Soon the huntsman rode up with his hounds around him and asked if he had seen a fox. "A fox?" said the woodcutter. "No, I have seen no fox." But all the time he was speaking, he was pointing at the hut. "No fox here," he said, and he pointed again.

The huntsman took no notice of his hand. He trusted the words, and away he rode, and the baying of the hounds faded into the trees.

Out slipped the fox. He trotted off without so much as a glance. "Hey!" shouted the woodcutter. "You ungrateful thing! I saved your life, and you go without a word of thanks!"

The fox looked back over his shoulder. "I would have thanked you gladly," he said, "if your hands had been as good as your words."