OLD RED REYNARD the Fox was very poor, though he came of an ancient family. All he had in the world was his old red coat, which was getting a bit worn and shabby now. It was of a sort of browny-red like an autumn leaf. And his house was also shabby, not to say stuffy, for it never was cleaned from one year’s end to another.

Old Red Reynard the Fox made his home in a rocky cave on the side of a mossy hill, a very pretty hill, with a little spring near the top of it that went drop, drop, drop. The spring never stopped, and never overflowed, but went drop, drop, drop, all the time. If you crossed the hill to the west, you came past the Willow Pond, and the Dew Pond, and in the end you would come to the Beech Woods. If you crossed the hill to the east, you came through the Turnip Field, and the Clover Field, and the Meadow, until you reached the Field of Mr. McGregor’s Farm. That was a very long way to carry one’s dinner home; but Old Red Reynard the Fox could easily do it. Due north there was a bog, and due south there was a river, flowing along by level fields and reed beds.

Old Red Reynard the Fox had a wife Lady Vixen and three little fat children — Cubbylet, Cubbyling, and Cubbylina. They were very merry and happy, and had great games with their Mother, rolling about and romping before the door of their home. But they had very large appetites through the healthful open-air life they led. And there are no shops in the Beech Woods.

You have to fetch and carry every single thing you want; and that is no end of a bother. So, every day of their lives, just when Old Red Reynard the Fox wanted to sit down comfortably and have a little nap, his children would come and plague and pester him, saying they were so dreadfully hungry.

Old Red Reynard the Fox could hear Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel chattering high up in the trees over him, saying, “Poor little dears! Just hear how hungry they are! What a shame to starve them!” And he could hear old Mr. Woodpecker laughing like anything in the branches beyond, all of which annoyed him very much.

“Can’t you let your poor Father have some rest? I’ve run all sorts of risks for you. I shall run them some time once too often,” he would grumble. And then Lady Vixen would come out and worry him too, telling him he was very lazy, and that he didn’t care for her and her children, and that all he thought about was himself. So at last he would get up sulkily and say, “Oh, bother!” and go off to find some food. And I assure you, he got a very small share of it himself.

Now, sad to say, Old Red Reynard the Fox was nothing more or less than a gentleman burglar. There were quite a lot of them in the woods, and among them were Old Man Raccoon and Mr. Snake, and many others.

But Old Red Reynard the Fox was the biggest of them all. And as nobody had ever told him it was wrong, he can’t be blamed for burgling. He thought it was rather noble on the whole. I dare say you have often thought it would be noble to be a highwayman or a pirate; but there really isn’t much difference between them all.

One night Old Red Reynard the Fox started off as usual, and he had a regular run of bad luck. Everything seemed to go against him. First he went westward; and he tried to burgle some young Bunnies who were whisking to and fro beside the Willow Pond. But old Mother Duck was awake in the reeds, and she croaked out so loudly, “Look! look! look!” that all the little Bunnies ran home at once. Then he tried to catch some little Pheasants who were playing in the grass by the Dew Pond. Mother Badger, who was skulking to and fro, growled out, “Run! run!” and scared them all away. “I sha’n’t trouble to go to the Beech Woods,” said Old Red Reynard the Fox, “it would simply be a waste of time.” So he turned and went due eastward. He crossed the Turnip Field, and the Clover Field, and the Meadow, and crept ever so softly, softly, through Mr. McGregor’s Field, and jumped over the barnyard wall.

I tell you Old Red Reynard the Fox did lick his lips when he got into that barn-yard! There were Ducks asleep there, nestled up against the foot of the hayracks; and Hens asleep upon the lowest branches of a tree, and Geese asleep beside the barn; and even the Farm Dog was asleep in his kennel, for he was getting old and feeble. There were old Turkeys slumbering in one place, and young Turkeys in another; and Pigeons on the granary roof. In fact, everybody was sound asleep — all except the Stable Cat and she was walking to and fro, waiting for the mice to come out of the hayracks; and getting very impatient.

“Good evening!” said Old Red Reynard the Fox, politely. “Fine night, isn’t it? I’m just out for a stroll.”

“Good evening,” said the Stable Cat, suspiciously, and she pretended to go between the racks and nose about for mice. But, in reality, she watched to see what Old Red Reynard the Fox would do.

Old Red Reynard the Fox didn’t lose a moment. His eyes were as sharp as needles. He picked out the very plumpest young Goose he could see, seized it by the neck, and slung it over his shoulder. It hadn’t even time to squall.

“Well done!” said Old Red Reynard the Fox to himself. Then the Stable Cat rushed out from between the hayracks and made the most dreadful Meows that ever were heard there never was such a caterwauling! — “Meow! Me-ow! Me-ow-ow-ow!”

“Be quiet, do!” said Old Red Reynard the Fox, angrily, “it’s no business of yours. If the Goose doesn’t say anything, why should you?”

“Me-ow-ow!” shrieked the Stable Cat. It sounded like forty cats instead of one.

Then everyone awoke at once, and they saw Old Red Reynard the Fox scurrying away in the moonlight.

And such a hissing, and cackling, and gobbling, and quacking, and squawking, and cooing, and barking as there was! Something terrible! Old Red Reynard the Fox bolted for his life, but he held on tight to the Goose.

And, oh dear! just as he jumped over the barnyard wall again, there were other sounds as well. One was a window being thrown open and the other was a crack-bang noise, which happened all of a sudden; and at the same moment poor Old Red Reynard the Fox felt a horrid, sharp, stinging pain in his left hind-leg—a pain that was extremely painful.

He had no idea how he ever got home. He limped and hobbled, but still he ran, and ran, and ran. It seemed like two thousand miles from Mr. McGregor’s Farm to his home though it wasn’t so much as two.

“Father! Father!” screamed the three children, rushing out to meet him. It was very late, of course; but they always went to bed dreadfully late. The Fox family were very poor, but very proud; and they did not like people to know how hungry they were by day, and that their only chance of a meal was at night in the dark. “Have you brought us anything?” they cried.

“Take it,” said Old Red Reynard the Fox, and he dropped the Goose, and fell down in a sort of faint; for indeed his leg was bleeding badly and he felt quite weak. The children were so eager for their supper that they never noticed that their Father was hurt. They knew he had been a very long time away, and thought he must be tired; that was all. They flung themselves upon the Goose, and nearly choked themselves to death with the feathers.

But Lady Vixen was very sorry for Old Red Reynard the Fox, and as she had nothing to bind up his poor leg with, she licked it gently for a long while, and whispered nice, kind, affectionate things to him until he felt a little better. They both said very hard things about the sad accident to his leg, and the way it had happened. For to steal a Goose may not be a proper thing to do; but to shoot a Fox is a much worse offence. “And now,” said Old Red Reynard the Fox, sighing and stretching himself, “now, my dear, for a bit of supper. I feel a trifle weary after my long, long run.

A leg of Goose, now, or a breastbone—”

Alas! there was none left. The children had finished the Goose every scrap. There was not even one morsel left for poor Old Red Reynard the Fox and Lady Vixen.

I can’t tell you how ashamed Cubbylet, Cubbyling, and Cubbylina were of their selfishness, when they suddenly realized what they had done. Their Father was quite too worn out to hunt for anything more to eat, and their Mother was too shocked to scold them; indeed, no scolding would have fitted such a miserable state of things. No scolding could have been severe enough.

The three children went, all shame-faced, to bed, but they couldn’t sleep, partly because they had eaten too much and partly because they felt so sad.

“Shall we go out hunting by ourselves?” suggested Cubbylet.

“Yes,” said Cubbyling, “and get a nice breakfast ready for Father when he wakes up!”

“Won’t he be pleased!” said Cubbylina.

They listened with pricked-up ears and they heard their Father and Mother snoring heavily. They had fallen asleep quite disheartened and tired out. And then, very carefully, the three little Foxes crept past their parents’ bed, and went out on tiptoe into the moonlight.

It was a splendid hunting night; but as they had never been out hunting before, they hadn’t the least idea how to set about it. Very often the hardest part of a job is the beginning perhaps you have found that out for yourself. Going on to the end is no trouble at all, once a good start has been made.

The three little Foxes felt very thirsty after their supper; so first they went to have a drink at the little dropping spring, and then they went due south toward the river. It was all very dark and lonely.

Not a sign of anything to eat. In one place they disturbed Mr. Snake, who made ugly noises at them; in another they met Old Man Raccoon, slinking along, and he made ugly faces at them. They were just a trifle frightened.

“This can’t be the right way,” said Cubbylet.

“Let’s go the opposite way,” suggested Cubbyling.

“I’m so tired!” wailed Cubbylina.

So they went due north; and immediately they got into boggy ground. It was full of all kinds of creeping vines. Things kept making them jump violently. Mr. Frog hopped up and startled them, and croaked at them to go away; Mrs. Partridge screamed at them not to tread on her eggs. Their three nice little russet coats got all smeared, and their feet got sticky with mud.

And they found nothing there for Father’s breakfast nothing at all.

“I don’t think much of this place,” said Cubbylet, sniffing.

“I think it’s downright awful,” said Cubbyling.

“Oh! I’m so tired!” wailed Cubbylina.

So they went due west till they came to the Beech Woods. That is where the Little Brown Beech Man lived. He wasn’t a bit like anyone they had met before. He had a beech-nut for a hat, and a very charming suit of beech-leaves, which he had made entirely himself, sewing it with a pine-needle and some leaf-fiber. He was sitting on a toadstool, meditating, near the door of his little house, which was in a willow tree; and Brother Nightingale was singing to him very beautifully from a beech-tree stump, when he heard a pita-pat among the fallen leaves, and saw the three little Foxes approaching.

“Gracious me!” said the Little Brown Beech Man, “who can they be?” They were so sleepy and tired they could hardly get along. Cubbyling had got a thorn in his foot, and Cubbylet had got a bramble tangled up in his tail, and Cubbylina was crying. They were the most dismal, down-hearted little people possible; for all their hunting had been in vain. They still felt ashamed of their greediness; and they were dreadfully sorry that their Father would have no breakfast; for they really loved him dearly.

The Little Brown Beech Man spoke to them very kindly, and asked them what was the matter.

“Little folks like you,” said he, “have no business to go out at night and lose your way.”

“We want to find some food for Father and Mother,” said Cubbylet.

“We ate up all their supper by mistake,” said Cubbyling, humbly.

“And we c-can’t f-find anything at all,” sobbed Cubbylina.

“Is this true?” inquired the Little Brown Beech Man.

“Quite true,” they all assured him.

“Quite terue-terue-terue,” echoed Brother Nightingale, in the branches.

“I could give you lots of things,” said the Little Brown Beech Man; “but perhaps your Father couldn’t eat them. Beech-nuts, for instance acorns nuts turnips mushrooms—grains of wheat.”

But they shook their heads.

“He doesn’t like nuts,” said Cubbylet.

“He hates vegetables,” said Cubbyling.

“He won’t eat anything like wheat,” sighed Cubbylina.

“I have a plan,” said the Little Brown Beech Man. “You go to sleep, my dears, and I’ll carry it out. A little wood magic is all we need.”

So the three children lay down on top of one another, and fell fast asleep in a moment. And then the Little Brown Beech Man worked—oh! how hard he worked all the rest of the night.

First he took a lot of his own private store of beech-nuts, though he had hardly enough to last till the beech-nuts ripened again. Then he begged some acorns from Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel, also a few nuts but they hadn’t many to spare. Then he fetched some turnips from the flat fields near the river; they were very heavy, and it took him a long, long time to roll them along. Then he got some mushrooms from the shed at Mr. McGregor’s Farm, and some grains of wheat from the Farm Granary. This was also a very difficult job, because he had to squeeze in through chinks, and let himself out through mouse holes.

But where there’s a will there’s a way; and he did so want to help the children to make amends. He was a very kindly person, was the Little Brown Beech Man, though not by any means beautiful to look at.

He was carrying things to Old Red Reynard the Fox’s house the whole time, and when he had got a great big pile outside the door there, he went back and woke the children, and said, “Sh! don’t say anything when you see what happens!”

Then they trotted back to their home with the Little Brown Beech Man. They found everything dark and silent there only you could hear Old Red Reynard the Fox and his wife snoring.

“Now you shall see what you shall see,” said the Little Brown Beech Man. And he took his little wand and touched the things he had brought, saying some words of wood magic.

Then the beech-nuts immediately looked like fat little bunnies and the acorns like plump young pheasants. The nuts appeared to be chickens, and the turnips ducklings. The mushrooms looked like geese, and the grains of wheat like turkeys.

You never saw such a wonderful thing in your life!

“Now,” said the Little Brown Beech Man, “go in and call your Father to breakfast. Tell him you’ve done your best!” And he swung himself up into a fir tree.

So all three little Foxes marched solemnly into the house, and cried, “Wake up! Breakfast’s ready!”

“Breakfast! We never have any!” said Old Red Reynard the Fox, rubbing his bewildered eyes.

“Breakfast! There is none!” said Lady Vixen, wide awake in a moment.

“Come and see” said Cubbylet.

“Come and look!” yelled Cubbyling.

“Come and have it!” sang Cubbylina.

And they all rushed forth, higgledy-piggledy, tumbling over each other, in a state of the wildest excitement.

Oh, what a joyful time it was!

The three little naughty greedy people who had gone to bed so sad last night now felt as noble as anything.

Old Red Reynard the Fox, who had been groaning because he was too lame to move, and couldn’t go a-hunting, now had a royal breakfast — a vegetable one, though he didn’t know it and there was enough left over for several days to come.

And although this delightful state of things could not last for ever for the Little Brown Beech Man had used up all the wood magic he’d got, and it took a long time to make some more it gave the Fox family such a taste for vegetable food (because of course the truth leaked out) that Old Red Reynard the Fox didn’t want to go burgling any more.

The Fox family lived thereafter much more easily on turnips, and acorns, and mushrooms, without running risks of accidents.

Old Man Raccoon, and Mr. Snake, and all the other gentlemen burglars, came one by one to very bad ends — they stole other people’s goods just once too often. But Old Red Reynard the Fox and his cheerful, contented family lived happy ever after on vegetable food. And Brother Nightingale sang them lovely songs in the summer; and in winter the Little Brown Beech Man told them thrilling tales of his youth, which was ever so many hundreds of years ago.