And clambering bore it over the rocks,
When who should he meet but his cousin the fox.
“Friend,” quoth the wily fox, “pray go
And bring me a fish from the pool below—
I’ve not tasted fish for a year or mo’.
Leave here thy salmon; go, haste thee back,
We’ll dine together and have our crack;
Believe me, dear otter, that over one’s food
The face of a friend is always good.”
The otter tumbled into the stream