“I am crying because little boy is crying,” said the dog.
“And what are you crying for, little boy?” asked the fox.
“I am crying because the goats will not come out of the ryefield. I was driving them along the road to the hills and they went through the fence, and I have chased them and chased them and they will not come out.”
“Well,” said the fox, “that is nothing to cry about. Just you wait here and I will go into the field and chase them out for you.”
So the fox ran through the hole and started after the goats, barking shrilly. And when they saw him coming they started to run, and ran round and round in the field until at last the fox was so tired that he sat down by the fence and cried.
By-and-by a bee came flying lightly overhead.
“Why, fox,” he said, “why are you crying?”
“I am crying because dog is crying,” said the fox.
“And why are you crying, dog?” asked the bee.
“I am crying because little boy is crying,” said the dog.