"Not I," replied the Wolf. "I have never been near the spot since the day that we buried it together."
"But I tell thee it must have been thou," insisted the Fox, "for no other creature knew it was there except ourselves. And, besides, I can see by the sleekness of thy fur that thou hast fared well of late."
Which last sentence was both unjust and untrue, for the poor Wolf looked as lean and badly nourished as he could possibly be.
So back they both went to the cave, arguing all the way. The Fox declaring that the Wolf must have been the thief, and the Wolf protesting his innocence.
"Art thou ready to swear to it?" said the Fox at last; though why he asked such a question, dear only knows.
"Yes, I am," replied the Wolf firmly; and, standing in the middle of the cave, and holding one paw up solemnly he swore this awful oath:
"If it be that I stole the butter; if it be, if it be—
May a fateful, fell disease fall on me, fall on me."
When he was finished, he put down his paw and, turning to the Fox, looked at him keenly; for all at once it struck him that his fur looked sleek and fine.
"It is thy turn now," he said. "I have sworn, and thou must do so also."
The Fox's face fell at these words, for although he was both untruthful and dishonest now, he had been well brought up in his youth, and he knew that it was a terrible thing to perjure oneself and swear falsely.