lay down on the ground and thought how he could deceive the horse and then catch him.

"I have it," he said at last. "I will be a doctor. The horse is sound and well, but I will make him think that he needs a doctor; then I shall tell him that I can cure him." The wolf smacked his lips as he thought of the meal he would soon have.

He marched into the pasture in a very business-like way. Going right up to the horse, he said:

"Good morning, my dear sir. This is fine grass you are eating and a beautiful morning to be out. I am sorry to see you looking so poorly this bright day. I happen to be a doctor. As you know, a good doctor can tell at sight when one is sick. If you were well, you would not have been turned out to pasture. You know that there is much work to be done at this time of the year. Your master must think that you are not able to work.

"Now, my friend, be frank with me; tell me what ails you, that I may cure you. I have been to the best schools in the country. There I learned about diseases of every kind and a sure cure for every disease. If you have no money to pay my bill, do not let that trouble you. We can settle that later."

The horse looked at the wolf out of the corner of his eye and said, "Now that I think of it, I believe that something is wrong with the bottom of my left hind foot."

All the time the wolf had been looking for a good chance to spring upon the horse, but the horse did not let him get out of his sight for an instant.

When the horse told of his trouble the wolf replied, "Yes, I understand just what is the matter. There are many others having that same trouble this year. I have had as many as twenty cases. All are doing well. Let me look at your foot. Raise it now, please, care—"

At this instant the horse raised his foot, and with it gave the wolf such a terrible kick in his face that he fell heavily to the ground. The horse went on feeding.

As soon as the wolf was able to get up, he went groaning out of the field. He was cured of one thing, but the medicine was very bitter.

THE BIRDS, THE BEASTS, AND THE BAT

There was once a terrible war between the birds and the beasts. For a long time it was doubtful which would win.

The bat said, "I am not a bird and I am not a beast, so I shall fight on neither side."

At last the beasts seemed to be gaining the victory. The bat flew to them and said, "I am a beast. Look at my body and you will see that I am. I shall fight on your side."

New flocks of birds came to help their relatives, and the battle soon turned against the beasts.

Then the bat skulked over to the other side. "I am a bird," said he. "I can prove it by my wings," and he fought with the birds.

At last the war was over. The bat was hated by beasts and birds. Both made war upon him. He was obliged to slink off and hide in dark places during the day, never showing his face until dusk.

THE BEES, THE DRONES, AND THE WASP

Some working bees had made their comb in the hollow trunk of an oak.

The drones said, "We made that comb. It belongs to us."

"You did not make that comb," replied the workers. "You know very well that you did not. We made it."

The drones answered, "That comb belongs to us and we are going to have it."

So the workers took the case to Judge Wasp that he might decide the matter.

The workers and the drones settled down before him. "You workers and drones," said he, "are so much alike in shape and color that it is hard to tell which has been seen in the tree. But I think the matter can be justly decided. Each party may go to a hive in which there is no honey, and build up a new comb. The one that makes comb and honey like that found in the tree is the owner of the tree comb."

"All right," said the workers, "we will do it;" but the drones said, "We will have nothing to do with such a plan."

So Judge Wasp said, "It is plain to see which of you made the comb. It belongs to the workers."

The drones buzzed away very angry, but they were not able to harm the workers or the judge, and the workers went back to their tree.

THE WOODMAN AND HIS AX

One day a poor woodman lost his ax. He hunted all day, but he could not find it. He was very sad, for how could he make a living for his family without an ax? Besides he had no money with which to buy a new one. As night came on, he sank down by the roadside and buried his face in his hands.

He heard a noise in the bushes and raised his head. A stranger was standing by him. "What is the matter?" asked the stranger. The woodman told him of his trouble.

"I am sorry your ax is lost," said the stranger. "Would you know it if you were to see it? I found an ax in the road. It may be yours. Is this it?" he asked, holding out a gold ax.

"No," answered the woodman, "that is not my ax. All the money I ever earned would not buy such an ax as that."

"I found another," said the man. "This must be the one," and he held out a silver ax.

"No, that is not mine," replied the woodman. "I am too poor a man to own such an ax as that."

"Well, here is another ax that I found. Is this yours?" The stranger held out an old ax of steel.

"That is mine, oh, that is mine!" cried the woodman, springing up joyously and taking his ax from the stranger. "Now we shall not starve. Thank you, kind sir. Where did you find it?"

The stranger said, "All three of the axes are yours. I am glad to make you a present of the gold ax and the silver ax. Let me have your hand. I am happy to meet an honest man."

The woodman's neighbors heard of his good fortune. One of them lost his ax. He appeared to feel very sad over his loss. He sat down by the roadside and bowed his head, looking out of the corners of his eyes for the stranger.

At last he saw the stranger coming around a bend in the road. The sun shown upon a gold ax which he carried in his hand. He stopped in front of the woodman. "Why do you grieve, my friend?" he asked.

"I have lost my ax with which I earned my living," the woodman replied.

"Cheer up," said the stranger. "I have an ax here. Is it yours?"

"That is the very one," said the woodman. "Thank you, stranger," and he reached out his hand to take the gold ax.

But the stranger drew back, and put the ax behind him. "It is not your ax. It is my own, and you wish to claim it. You are both dishonest and untruthful;" and he turned away.

THE FOX WITH HIS TAIL CUT OFF

Reynard lost his tail in a trap. Now a fox is proud of two things—his cunning and his tail. He had allowed himself to be trapped. This showed his lack of cunning, and he had lost his tail.

He was so ashamed of himself that he could not bear to meet another fox. He slunk off to his den and came out only when driven by hunger. When out hunting, he kept out of the way of all his neighbors. He did not mean that any of them should know of his bad luck.

At last he grew tired of living by himself. He wanted to gossip with his friends.

He wondered whether old Rufus was still running on top of the great meadow fence to throw the hounds off the track.

He longed to hear of the latest tricks of Fleetfoot's cubs. They were three of the brightest little foxes that ever lived. He wished that he could see them at their play.

He wished to know if the men were still cutting down trees near White-ear's den. If this went on, White-ear would have to find a new home. It would be hard for her after living in that beautiful spot so long.

If he were to hear the news at all, he must meet his comrades. "How can I bear to listen to their laugh!" he moaned.

He had not lost all of his cunning, as you will see. He lay for a long