“Are you satisfied?” asked the Partridge of her friend.
“Well,” answered the Jackal, “you have certainly made nine laugh, but I doubt if you could make me cry. It is easy enough to be a buffoon; it is more difficult to excite the highest emotions.”
“Let us see,” retorted the Partridge, somewhat piqued; “there is a huntsman with his dogs coming along the road. Just creep into that hollow tree and watch me; if you don’t weep scalding tears, you must have no feeling in you!”
The Jackal did as he was bid, and watched the Partridge, who began fluttering about the bushes till the dogs caught sight of her, when she flew to the hollow tree where the Jackal was hidden. Of course the dogs smelt him at once, and set up such a yelping and scratching that the huntsman came up, and seeing what it was, dragged the Jackal out by the tail. Whereupon the dogs worried him to their heart’s content, and finally left him for dead.
By and by he opened his eyes—for he was only foxing—and saw the Partridge sitting on a branch above him.
“Did you cry?” she asked anxiously. “Did I rouse your high emo—”
“Be quiet, will you!” snarled the Jackal; half dead with fear!”
So there the Jackal lay for some time, getting the better of his bruises, and meanwhile he became hungry.
“Now is the time for friendship!” said he to the Partridge. “Get me a good dinner, and I will acknowledge you a true friend.”
“Very well!” replied the Partridge; “only watch me, and help yourself when the time comes.”