8. The Fox Who Had Lost His Tail

    Early one morning a fine and handsome fox, who had been hunting all night, was slipping home through a gorse covert when-- bing! bang! snap!-- a hidden trap caught him by his brush, which he was allowing to hang carelessly behind him.  Mr. Fox gave a loud bark of rage and terror, struggled and fought violently, and at last managed to get free.  But, alas! he had left his beautiful brush in the trap; and he sat down and bewailed the loss, not altogether on account of the pain, but because he felt sure all the other foxes would think him such a poor sort of fellow, going about the world without a tail.

    At last, as he sat staring at the brush in the trap, a brilliant idea occurred to him.  He blinked his eyes, nodded his head, stood up, and trotted off.

    When he reached the earth where he lived he spent a long time licking himself clean and tidy after his accident.  Then he sent out invitations to all the other foxes who lived in all the other earths in the neighborhood.  He said, in the invitation, that he had something very interesting and important to tell them.

    Well, all the foxes came together and sat in a ring, on their haunches, round the fox who had lost his brush.  And Mr. Brushless Fox began to lecture them at great length on the extreme inconvenience, and ugliness, and weight, and trouble of their highly unnecessary tails.

    "Of what use is this heavy ugly brush that Nature has seen fit to bestow upon us?" said he.  "Never was there anything so absurd!  We do not wag our tails, as those borrid white and tan creatures, the hounds, do.  Nor do we use them, like horses, to whisk away flies, since flies do not buzz below ground with any energy to speak of.  As far as I can see, a fox's brush is merely attached to his body so that it can be cut off when he has been hunted to death, and given to some greedy human being to carry home.  What a fate!  What an indignity!  In order, then, to improve your appearance while you are alive, and to save your pride when you are dead, I advise you all -- all-- to cut off your tails without further delay."

    The foxes listened to him gravely, their bright cunning eyes wide open, their little sharp-  nosed heads on one side.  He was a crafty old fellow this brushless fox-- but his fellows were even craftier.  One of them slipped behind the lecturer and had a good look at his back.  Then, coming out into the open, the peeping fox announced his discovery.

    "Oh, all ye foxes who sit round," said he.  "I have something to say to you! This fox who is advising you to get rid of our tails is only doing so because he has lost his own!  It is for that he insists on the weight and ugliness and inconvenience of a brush!  A pretty story, truly.  Go behind him, as I have done, and see his ridiculous appearance for yourselves!"

    So all the other foxes ran round Mr. Brushless Fox, and looked at the place where his tail had been and now was not.  And then, in a chorus, they repeated the words of the fox who had found the sly one out.

  "Aha!  Aha!" barked all the foxes mockingly.  "You are a clever fellow, aren't you? But we see through you! You only want us to cut off our tails because you have lost your own!"