'Let us see,' retorted the Partridge, somewhat piqued; 'there is a huntsman with his dogs coming along the road. Just creep into that hollow tree and watch me: if you don't weep scalding tears, you must have no feeling in you!'
The Jackal did as he was bid, and watched the Partridge, who began fluttering about the bushes till the dogs caught sight of her, when she flew to the hollow tree where the Jackal was hidden. Of course the dogs smelt him at once, and set up such a yelping and scratching that the huntsman came up, and seeing what it was, dragged the Jackal out by the tail. Whereupon the dogs worried him to their hearts' content, and finally left him for dead.
By and by he opened his eyes—for he was only foxing—and saw the
Partridge sitting on a branch above him.
'Did you cry?' she asked anxiously. 'Did I rouse your higher emo—'
'Be quiet, will you!' snarled the Jackal; 'I'm half dead with fear!'
So there the Jackal lay for some time, getting the better of his bruises, and meanwhile he became hungry.
'Now is the time for friendship!' said he to the Partridge. 'Get me a good dinner, and I will acknowledge you are a true friend.'
'Very well!' replied the Partridge; 'only watch me, and help yourself when the time comes.'
Just then a troop of women came by, carrying their husbands' dinners to the harvest-field.
The Partridge gave a little plaintive cry, and began fluttering along from bush to bush as if she were wounded.