“That may be so, and that may not be so,” said the Cock; “all the same, the hubbub is in my own house.”
“That is good,” said the Great Red Fox, “but one should not trouble one’s neighbors, even in one’s own house; so, if it suits you, we will have no more crowing.”
“I was made for crowing, and crow I must,” said the Cock.
“You must crow no more,” said the Great Red Fox.
“I must crow,” said the Cock.
“You must not crow,” said the Great Red Fox.
“I must crow,” said the Cock. And that was the last of it for—snip!—off went its head, and it crowed no more. Nevertheless, he had the last word, and that was some comfort. After that the Great Red Fox ate up the Cock, body and bones, and then he went home again.
“Will Neighbor Cock crow again?” said the Grey Goose.
“No; he will crow no more,” said the Fox; and that was true.
By and by came hungry times, with little or nothing in the house to eat. “Look!” said the Great Red Fox, “yonder is Neighbor Sausage, and he has plenty.”