“What are you laughing at?” demanded Reddy.
“At the way Old Man Coyote stole that dinner from us,” replied Granny.
“I hate him! He’s a sneaking robber!” snapped Reddy.
“Tut, tut, Reddy! Tut, tut!” retorted Granny. “Be fair-minded. We stole that dinner from Bowser the Hound, and Old Man Coyote stole it from us. I guess he is no worse than we are, when you come to think it over. Now is he?”
“I—I—well, I don’t suppose he is, when you put it that way,” Reddy admitted grudgingly.
“And he was smart, very smart, to outwit two such clever people as we are,” continued Granny. “You will have to agree to that.”
“Y-e-s,” said Reddy slowly. “He was smart enough, but—”
“There isn’t any but, Reddy,” interrupted Granny. “You know the law of the Green Meadows and the Green Forest. It is everybody for himself, and anything belongs to one who has the wit or the strength to take it. We had the wit to take that dinner from Bowser the Hound, and Old Man Coyote had the wit to take it from us and the strength to keep it. It was all fair enough, and you know there isn’t the least use in crying over spilled milk, as the saying is. We simply have got to be smart enough not to let him fool us again. I guess we won’t get any more of Bowser’s dinners for a while. We’ve got to think of some other way of filling our stomachs when the hunting is poor. I think if I could have just one of those fat hens of Farmer Brown’s, it would put new strength into my old bones. All summer I warned you to keep away from that henyard, but the time has come now when I think we might try for a couple of those hens.”
Reddy pricked up his ears at the mention of fat hens. “I think so too,” said he. “When shall we try for one?”
“To-morrow morning,” replied Granny. “Now don’t bother me while I think out a plan.”