The Lost Wig

Nobody in town could tell that the old lion's mane was not his own. His real one had fallen out years ago, every last hair, so now he wore a wig. He combed it. He curled it. He thought it looked very fine.

One windy morning he went out for a stroll. Whoosh, went the wind around the corner. Whoosh, went the wind down the street. The lion patted his wig and walked on.

Across the road he saw one of the charming Tiger sisters. He stood up tall. He smiled his best smile. "Good morning, dear lady!" he called. Then, to show his fine manners, he made a long, low bow.

Whoosh! Off flew the wig. It sailed over the road and rolled away in the dust, and there stood the lion with his head as bare and shiny as an egg.

The lady stared. The lion's ears went hot. Then he looked up at her and smiled, as calm as could be. "Is it any wonder," he said, "that another fellow's hair won't stay on my head, when my own wouldn't stay there either?"