On the evening of one quiet summer day, when the sun had hidden behind the western hills, old Umm Salih was on her way home from the market, holding in one hand a basket filled with sugar, tea, starch, and soap, and carrying on her shoulder a long stick from which dangled two brown hens. The two hens were not at ease at being carried in this

fashion, for they were accus-tomed to having the ground—not the sky—beneath their feet. So they blinked their eyes and uttered not a single word, and Umm Salih went on her way, worn out with fatigue.

Meanwhile the red fox was sniff-ing the pleasant evening breeze behind the prickly-pear trees. Then all of a sudden he raised his long muzzle and began to sniff about him, for the smell of chicken had reached his nostrils. His mouth watered when this thought crossed his mind, and he peered with his nose through the folds of the prickly-pear trees, and there he saw Umm Salih

walking slowly along the dusty road, carrying the two delicious hens. The sight of them inflamed his appetite. But how was he to reach them?

He shook his head once, then twice, and then walked along behind the hedge of prickly-pear trees, keeping level with Umm Salih's road.

When Umm Salih passed the bend in the road, she saw a fox with a beautiful red pelt sprawled in the middle of the road, a lifeless corpse. She set her basket on the ground and looked at him in astonishment, then said:

"What a beautiful piece of fur."

Then she picked up her basket again and went on her way. Hardly had Umm Salih passed out of sight when the red fox stood up on his feet and slipped away behind the prickly-pear trees. He passed Umm Salih and her two hens hanging from the stick, as she still plodded on toward her house in effort and weariness. He had to be quick, for there was only one more bend