‘In a valley beyond those trees,’ answered the hedgehog, ‘there is a small farmhouse where the best butter in the world is made. I know their ways, and in an hour’s time the farmer’s wife will be off to milk the cows, which she keeps at some distance. We could easily get in at the window of the shed where she keeps the butter, and I will watch, lest some one should come unexpectedly, while you have a good meal. Then you shall watch, and I will eat.’
‘That sounds a good plan,’ replied the jackal; and they set off together.
But when they reached the farmhouse the jackal said to the hedgehog: ‘Go in and fetch the pots of butter and I will hide them in a safe place.’
‘Oh no,’ cried the hedgehog, ‘I really couldn’t. They would find out directly! And, besides, it is so different just eating a little now and then.’
‘Do as I bid you at once,’ said the jackal, looking at the hedgehog so sternly that the little fellow dared say no more, and soon rolled the jars to the window where the jackal lifted them out one by one.
When they were all in a row before him he gave a sudden start.
‘Run for your life,’ he whispered to his companion; ‘I see the woman coming over the hill!’ And the hedgehog, his heart beating, set off as fast as he could. The jackal remained where he was, shaking with laughter, for the woman was not in sight at all, and he had only sent the hedgehog away because he did not want him to know where the jars of butter were buried. But every day he stole out to their hiding-place and had a delicious feast.
At length, one morning, the hedgehog suddenly said:
‘You never told me what you did with those jars?’
‘Oh, I hid them safely till the farm people should have forgotten all about them,’ replied the jackal. ‘But as they are still searching for them we must wait a little longer, and then I’ll bring them home, and we will share them between us.’