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 In Hilltown there was a man called Eric. One day he had the good fortune to catch a fox which had long disturbed the peace in his poultry-yard. He determined not to kill the animal, but tied a rope around Reynard's neck and determined to sell him to any one who might buy him. As he went along a by-road, a man from Plaintown came driving along in great state. His name was Christopher. When he caught sight of the fox he stopped his horses, shouting: "What sort of creature is that, hey? I never saw its like before."

Eric from Hilltown stopped and looked at the stranger and his two beautiful mares. As soon as he found out that the man could have come from no other place than Plaintown, he replied: "It is a sheep-painter."

"A sheep-painter!" shouted the Plaintowner. "What use do you make of him?"

"He paints my sheep red," returned Eric.

"Is it possible, indeed?" said Christopher.

"The greatest truth you ever heard," asserted the other. "If you let him paint the wool, you never need to have it dyed afterwards."

"A great deal of money might be saved in that manner," observed Christopher again.

"Depend upon it, my friend!" said Eric. "He is expensive. Yes, yes, he is very expensive, but you save the cost of dyeing, you know, in the future. This expense comes only once."

"Of course—of course!" rejoined Christopher.