“Courage, courage, fellows,” cried Isegrim, trying to rally his troops; “just bear yourselves bravely; all is not lost; we’ll make short work of them yet!”
In the midst of all this confusion Whiteling and his troops reached the spot unperceived. Grimalkin, catching a glimpse of the Wild Boar’s ear sticking out of the moss, took it for a mouse, and springing upon it, bit into it with his sharp teeth. The Wild Boar sprang up in terror and took wildly to flight, while Grimalkin, no less terrified, scrambled frantically up the tree into the very face of Master Petz. The Bear, not prepared for this unexpected encounter, lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, half-killing himself by the fall. More frightened than ever, the Tomcat scrambled blindly up to the tree-top.
“Now, it’s my turn,” thought Reinecke to himself, and immediately tumbled down in affright. Grimalkin tumbled after, while the Drake kept drumming, “Quack-quack, quack-quack, quack-quack,” and Ganner hissed with all his might. Thus was Isegrim’s host ignominiously routed. The Wolf himself, however, still cowered behind the tree, his head buried in the moss.
When the besiegers had withdrawn, Isegrim’s scattered forces drew together and began to count their honorable scars. Said Master Petz, “More dead than alive from my heavy fall, I barely managed to make my escape.”
“A piece of my ear is gone,” said the Boar. “He cut it off with his sword.”
“Let us be thankful, fellows,” concluded Reinecke, “that we are no worse off, for if they had been able to fire off one more cannon we should have been hopelessly lost!”
“I wish I knew that Dog,” said the little boy. “I think he is wiser than our Watch.”
“The beasts were wiser those days,” replied the grandmother. “That was my great-great-grandmother’s time.”