“Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?” asked the river.
“To the king, for he owes me money,” said Drakestail.
“I will travel with you,” said the river.
“You would soon tire if you ran so far, my friend,” said Drakestail. “Come along with me this way.” He opened his wee bill very wide, and down his wee little throat went the little river.
Then Drakestail traveled and traveled until he came to the king’s house. Now Drakestail thought that the king would meet him at the gate, so he called out very loudly:
“Honk! Honk! Drakestail waits at the gate.”
But the king did not come out to meet him. Who should appear at the gate but the king’s cook, and the cook took Drakestail by his two little legs and flung him into the poultry yard. The other fowls, who were ill-bred birds, ran up to Drakestail and bit him, and jeered at his large tail. It would have gone very badly with Drakestail, but he called to his friend, the fox:
“Reynard, Reynard, come out to the earth,
Or Drakestail’s life is of little worth.”
So the fox came out, and he ate up all the ill-bred fowls in the king’s poultry yard. But still Drakestail was badly off. He heard the king’s cook putting the broth pot over the fire.