The Wolf thought this a fine plan, and he drew near. Then the Mare raised her hoof and dealt Isegrim so smart a blow on the head that he ran off with a cracked crown, as fast as his heels could carry him.
On the way he met the Sow. “See here, Gruntelind,” he said to her, “there is no escape this time.”
“Very well,” replied the Sow; “since there is no help for it, just lead me around by the ear until I say good-by to all my kith and kin.”
Isegrim seized her by the ear, when she set up so shrill and piteous a squealing that the Swine all rushed to the spot from far and near, and falling upon Cousin Isegrim they almost tore him in pieces. Mangled and bleeding, he made his escape, and meeting the He-goat, he said, “Your time has come.”
“If that is the case,” replied the He-goat, “just stand in the middle of the field, with your mouth wide open, and my brothers and I will jump down your throat, one after the other. Then you won’t be hungry again for many a long day.”
This plan greatly pleased Isegrim, and he took his place in the middle of the field, with his mouth wide open. Then all the He-goats ran against him, butting at him, before and behind, till he could neither hear nor see, and it was all he could do to escape to the nearest wood.
There he spied a Cock, and said to him, “Now, see here, Gockeling, I am not to be fooled by you, at any rate.”
The Cock replied, “Just look at me once, how thin I am and what big feathers I have. Why should you bother to pluck me? It would save you a world of trouble if I got up into this tree and just flew down your throat.”
Isegrim thought this a fine idea. So Gockeling flew up into the tree. He hopped from branch to branch until he was in perfect safety, and then crowed loud and lustily to proclaim his escape.
At this the Wolf sank into deep thought. “My father lived comfortably,” he said to himself, “and was never a Roman; neither should I have been one—it has served me right. My father was no expert in Mares’ paces, yet he lived in peace and happiness; neither should I have been one—it has served me right. My father was no Swine musician, but he lived well for all that; neither should I have been one—it has served me right. My father never measured a field with He-goats, but he grew gray honorably for all that; only one thing rankles—that this scoundrel up in the tree crows over me so. It would be none too good for me if some one should jump from behind the tree and knock me over the head.”