lace his so high that
no one could get at him. Besides, he thought it would be more prudent
not to fall asleep, so he only lay still and snored loudly. When it
was quite dark and no sound was to be heard, the puma crept out to the
sheep-fold, killed the sheep, and carried back a bowl full of its
blood with which to sprinkle the monkey. But the monkey, who had been
watching him out of the corner of his eye, waited until the puma drew
near, and with a violent kick upset the bowl all over the puma
himself.

When the puma saw what had happened, he turned in a great hurry to
leave the house, but before he could do so, he saw the shepherd
coming, and hastily lay down again.

'This is the second time I have lost a sheep,' the man said to the
monkey; 'it will be the worse for the thief when I catch him, I can
tell you.' The monkey did not answer, but silently pointed to the puma
who was pretending to be asleep. The shepherd stooped and saw the
blood, and cried out: 'Ah! so it is you, is it? then take that!' and
with his stick he gave the puma such a blow on the head that he died
then and there.

Then the monkey got up and went to the dairy, and drank all the milk
he could find. Afterwards he returned home and married, and that is
the last we heard of him.

[_Adapted from Folklore Bresilien._]

_THE KNIGHTS OF THE FISH_

Once upon a time there lived an old cobbler who worked hard at his
trade from morning till night, and scarcely gave himself a moment to
eat. But, industrious as he was, he could hardly buy bread and cheese
for himself and his wife, and they grew thinner and thinner daily.

For a long while they pretended to each other that they had no
appetite, and that a few blackberries from the hedges were a great
deal nicer than a good strong bowl of soup. But at length there came a
day when the cobbler could bear it no longer, and he threw away his
last, and borrowing a rod from a neighbour he went out to fish.

Now the cobbler was as patient about fishing as he had been about
cobbling. From dawn to dark he stood on the banks of the little
stream, without hooking anything better than an eel, or a few old
shoes, that even he, clever though he was, felt were not worth
mending. At length his patience began to give way, and as he undressed
one night he said to himself: 'Well, I will give it one more chance;
and if I don't catch a fish to-morrow, I will go and hang myself.'

He had not cast his line for ten m