“Not I,” said the grasshopper promptly, for he was afraid of work.
The fox, puzzled, helpless and angry, could only grit his teeth and glare at them. A spider, remembering how he had killed her whole family with a blow of his paw, crept up and stung his leg, the wee soft rabbits that he knew were such toothsome dainties hopped around him and laid back their pretty pink ears and sniffed, the fat and fuzzy little chickens, who had been taught to hide under mother’s wing and hold their breath when he came in sight, now flapped their baby wings under his very nose and then ran away and cried “peep! peep!” at him, and the monkey giggled and threw a nut that hit one of his fine tails a sounding whack.
For once the quick wit of the fox deserted him. He could only turn up his nose and snarl slowly, for he was trying with all his might to plan what to do next. He was the richest fox in the world—the only living creature with nine golden tails—but what good were they to him if these silly creatures would not wait on him and worship him? In all the years he had lived among them he had been greedy and selfish and cross and ugly, and now he had not a single friend. But he didn’t blame himself, he blamed them. And the rage shut up within him boiled and bubbled until he foamed at the mouth. How he hated every one of them! Oh, if he could only take off his golden tails long enough to whip the saucy monkey! And how very nice one of those downy little chicks would taste!
“I have all the gold in the wood,” he said at last. “I am your King and you are too stupid to know it.”
“Only men are ruled by a man because he has gold,” said the wise old tortoise. “We know better. Had you been brave and kind and good we would now be proud of you. But you have thought only of yourself, now help yourself. You have all that you wanted—be satisfied.”
“As it is daylight I don’t see very well,” said the owl, blinking, “but it doesn’t seem to me that you are any handsomer with your nine golden tails than you were with your old gray brush.”
The fox started. Could he believe his ears? Not any handsomer than any common fox—he who had nine wonderful, glittering tails of purest gold?
“You are jealous of me—jealous—jealous,” he barked.
But as the animals did nothing but laugh a great fear came over him. Perhaps after all his tails were put on wrong! It had really been quite dark when the dragon came out, and as he was not used to giving away golden tails, he might have made a mistake and stuck them on backward. Something surely was the matter with them. He must go to the river at once and see for himself.
But he who had once been so light of foot that he hardly left a track in the softest mud as he skipped along, now found it very, very hard to get across the little strip of grass and weeds that lay between him and the forest mirror. He put forth every bit of his strength and swayed and tottered along, and all the animals followed him, scampering and laughing and pushing and shoving each other. And when he at last reached the bank, squirm and twist as he would, he could not get a glimpse of himself. He screwed his head around until his throat hurt, he twisted his thin body until his ribs stuck out, he stood on three legs and fell over on his nose trying to stand on two, but always the tails seemed to turn around the wrong way, and the very best he could do was to see one of them. The animals kept making fun of him as they watched him.