,"
said the King.

"Then I can not be the thief," replied the Fox, "as you will admit when
you have heard my story."

"Ah! Have you a story to tell?" inquired the King, who dearly loved to
hear stories.

"It is a short story, your Majesty; but it will prove clearly that I
have not taken your pudding."

"Then tell it," commanded the King. "It is far from my wish to condemn
any one who is innocent."

The Wise Men then placed themselves in comfortable positions, and the
King crossed his legs and put his hands in his pockets, while the Fox
sat before them on his haunches and spoke as follows:

THE FOX'S STORY.

"It has been unusually damp in my den of late, so that both my family
and myself have suffered much. First my wife became ill, and then I was
afflicted with a bad cold, and in both cases it settled in our throats.
Then my four children, who are all of an age, began to complain of sore
throats, so that my den became a regular hospital.

"We tried all the medicines we knew of, but they did no good at all. My
wife finally begged me to go to consult Doctor Prairiedog, who lives in
a hole in the ground away toward the south. So one morning I said good
by to my family and ran swiftly to where the doctor lives.

"Finding no one outside the hole to whom I might apply for admission I
walked boldly in, and having followed a long, dark tunnel for some
distance, I suddenly came to a door.

"'Come in!' said a voice; so in I walked, and found myself in a very
beautiful room, lighted by forty-eight fireflies, which sat in a row on
a rail running all around the apartment. In the center of the room was
a table, made of clay and painted in bright colors; and seated at this
table, with his spectacles on his nose, was the famous Doctor
Prairiedog, engaged in eating a dish of stewed snails.

"'Good morning,' said the Doctor; 'will you have some breakfast?'

"'No, thank you,' I replied, for the snails were not to my liking; 'I
wish to procure some medicine for my children, who are suffering from
sore throats.'

"' How do you know their throats are sore?' inquired the Doctor.

"'It hurts them to swallow,' I explained.

"'Then tell them not to swallow,' said the Doctor, and went on eating.

"'Sir!' I exclaimed, 'if they did not swallow, they would starve to
death.'

"'That is true,' remarked the Doctor; 'we must think of something
else.' After a moment of silence he cried out: 'Ha! I have it! Go home
and cut off the