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T happened once that the Cat met Mr. Fox in the wood, and because she thought: ‘He is clever and experienced in all the ways of the world,’ she addressed him in a friendly manner.

‘Good morning, dear Mr. Fox! how are you and how do you get along in these hard times?’

The Fox, full of pride, looked at the Cat from head to foot for some time hardly knowing whether he would deign to answer or not. At last he said—

‘Oh, you poor whisker-wiper, you piebald fool, you starveling mouse-hunter! what has come into your head? How dare you ask me how I am getting on? What sort of education have you had? How many arts are you master of?’

‘Only one,’ said the Cat, meekly.

‘And what might that one be?’ asked the Fox.

‘When the hounds run after me, I can jump into a tree and save myself.’

‘Is that all?’ said the Fox. ‘I am master of a hundred arts, and I have a sack full of cunning tricks in addition. But