Again the fox went back to his old sly ways, and for a time was quite
pleased to be only a fox and live in beautiful Napantatutu. Of men and
men’s ways he had quite enough, he was often heard to say, and he would
cock his head to one side and wink and grin every time he thought of
the poor old lady who was still waiting for her pearl.
The animals came and went, and their children and their grandchildren
and their great-grandchildren, and still he lived on. Most foxes would
have been happy to have such a quiet, comfortable time in an enchanted
land and wouldn’t have found anything to worry about. But after a few
hundred years he again got restless and tired and nothing was good
enough for him. He spent all his time planning what he would do when
he was a fox with nine golden tails. He talked of nothing else, and
became the greatest bore in the forest. And he made so much fun of
the peacock, saying it wore painted feathers, that the poor bird got
ashamed to spread its tail.
Soon he was shunned by all of the animals. The frog hopped away when it
saw him coming, the grasshopper whirred up to the top of the tallest
tree, the owls rolled their eyes at him, flapped their wings and away
they went, and even the lazy old tortoise, that every day came out to
take its nap in a little spot of sunshine, tried to crawl away in a
hurry when it heard him coming, and sometimes in its haste rolled all
the way down the river bank.
Year by year he went from bad to worse. He found fault with everybody
and everything, and was so cross that after a while he didn’t have a
single friend. He not only quarreled with all of his neighbors and
snapped and snarled at every one who spoke to him, but he greedily
swallowed any little helpless creatures that crossed his path, so that
at last all of the animals hated him even more than they feared him.
Then, too, he refused to have anything to do with any other foxes that
found their way into the peaceful wood, and made their lives miserable
with his airs.
“You are nothing but common beasts,” he told them haughtily. “You will
never have even one golden tail, while I will one day be the wonder of
the world.”
“Hadn’t you better wait until you get your fine tails before you brag
so much?” asked one saucy young fellow. “It may not be any better than
being a woman or a wizard or even an old gray fox.”
“A fox with nine golden tails is the most magnificent thing that was
ever seen or heard about,” he snarled. “I will be the King of Beasts
and even men will worship me,” and he walked away switching his one
bushy tail angrily. And he could only console himself by thinking what
a sad thing it was not to be appreciated.
“They are all jealous of me,” he told himself, as he didn’t often get a
chance to talk to any one else. And he fretted and fumed from morning
until night, counting the years that must pass, and he grew old and
thin worrying because the days were so long.
But everything comes if you only wait long enough, and at last the
day came when he was a thousand years old. He had stayed all night by
the hollow tree so that he would be on hand early in the morning, and
long before it was day he began to knock and bark and call for the
dragon. Even before the sun had touched the treetops the dragon came
out rubbing its eyes sleepily.
“How dare you wake me up?” cried the angry creature, blowing out fire
and sparks and smoke until it looked like a volcano.
“This is my thousandth birthday, and I want my nine tails of gold,”
whined the fox.
“You are a blithering old bother,” roared the dragon. “You don’t know
what you want and you don’t want anything after you get it. Well,
this is your last visit to me. Don’t let me ever see you again.” With
another snort it raised its forked tail all covered with silver scales
high above its head, opened its huge mouth and yawned furiously.
Then it slowly wriggled back into its dark bed, and standing without
was a fox with nine big, bright, glittering, golden tails. Never, never
had such a thing been seen by man or beast!
Even the fox was stunned for a moment when he found what had happened
to him. Then he puffed out with pride until he almost burst, and held
his head so high that he nearly fell over backward. He stood alone--the
wonder of the whole world!
His first thought was to run and show himself to all the animals of the
forest. And he started to skip joyfully away, but alas! he was as one
rooted to the spot. Now he found to his horror that his golden tails
were so heavy he could not walk, much less run. He had never thought
about this, and he stood trembling in his tracks, wondering just what
he would do about it. Besides, although he knew they must be very
beautiful, he could only twist his head far enough around to see the
tip end of one of them, and he wanted so to see them all and know how
very grand he really did look.
He kept lifting up first one foot and then another, and straining and
tugging in his struggle to trot off and let himself be seen. But never
again would he be able to run through the cool weeds and leap over the
streams and roll in the soft moss and kick up his heels in rustling
beds of leaves, for nine tails of gold were an awful load to carry. As
he grew more used to them he found he could manage to totter along with
slow and painful steps, but it was very hard work. But when he thought
of what the other poor animals would think and say when they beheld him
in all his glory he again puffed out with pride.
After all, if he couldn’t get about very well now, he would have all of
them to wait upon him, so it didn’t much matter. All he need do was to
stand up and be admired. It is true he wasn’t a bit comfortable, for
the tails were like lead, and already his poor back was aching, but
still one would be willing to have back-ache to be the most splendid
creature on earth. There never had been, there never again would be
anything like him. He was the one superb ornament of the world. He kept
repeating this to himself with much satisfaction. And if he couldn’t
walk, he could ride in the future on the backs of his adoring slaves
and perhaps that was better.
As the fox strutted feebly and slowly through the leaves and over the
dewy grass where he had once scampered and frolicked, suddenly he saw
a procession of all the creatures of the wood, with the monkey ahead,
coming to meet him, for they were very curious to know if he would get
his golden tails. He stopped and stood silent and haughty, waiting for
them. They gathered around him, but said never a word. And so he cried
out shrilly:
“Behold your King! I am the most wonderful animal in all the world.
Never again on land or on sea will there be bird or beast or fish or
fowl that can compare with me. Stupid things that you are, fall down
and worship me.”
Now, what the animals saw was not anything beautiful or wonderful, but
just the same old gray fox, with his back bald in patches, his legs
trembling and his body twisted crooked by the weight of nine stiff
yellow tails that stuck out behind him. And the more they looked at him
the funnier figure he cut. As he ended his proud speech he tried to
spread his magnificent tails and strut as he had seen the peacock do,
but he toppled over backward and kicked and squirmed in his efforts to
get on his feet again.
At this the animals set up a shout that echoed through the forest. The
monkey laughed until he had to hold on to the limb of a tree by his
tail to keep from falling off, the bear grinned at first and then let
out loud ha! ha’s! the hen cackled, the owls whoo-ed, the crickets
chirped, the pigeons coo-ed with such glee they gurgled and choked,
the rooster crowed, the parrot shrieked, the peafowl screamed, the
ducks squawked, the frogs croaked and young Luxuriant-Thick-Mud-Master
bellowed until the earth shook.
The fox was at first dazed. Then he thought that he was so marvelous an
object they had all gone crazy at the sight of him, and he waited for
them to come to their senses. When they had quieted down a bit he said
scornfully:
“Foolish things of the wood, I am not going to hurt you. If you obey me
I shall treat you kindly. But you must find me the daintiest food and
carry me everywhere I wish to go. Now hurry and get me my breakfast.”
But the animals saw that a fox with nine golden tails was but a
helpless thing, not as much to be feared as the spry and snappy old
fellow they had known for so many years. So some of them laughed and
some of them sat down to watch him.
“Obey me!” he screamed, his tongue hanging out with rage. “There never
before was anything made like me.”
“No, because you are useless,” said the tortoise.
“A fox with nine golden tails is the greatest thing in the world,” he
went on, not noticing the tortoise.
“How do we know they are not brass tails?” asked the owl, and winked
wisely.
“And who is going to keep them polished?” asked the practical ant, who
was known as a good housekeeper.
“Who? Who-oo?” hooted the owl.
“Not I,” said the grasshopper promptly, for he was afraid of work.
The fox, puzzled, helpless and angry, could only grit his teeth and
glare at them. A spider, remembering how he had killed her whole family
with a blow of his paw, crept up and stung his leg, the wee soft
rabbits that he knew were such toothsome dainties hopped around him
and laid back their pretty pink ears and sniffed, the fat and fuzzy
little chickens, who had been taught to hide under mother’s wing and
hold their breath when he came in sight, now flapped their baby wings
under his very nose and then ran away and cried “peep! peep!” at him,
and the monkey giggled and threw a nut that hit one of his fine tails a
sounding whack.
For once the quick wit of the fox deserted him. He could only turn
up his nose and snarl slowly, for he was trying with all his might to
plan what to do next. He was the richest fox in the world--the only
living creature with nine golden tails--but what good were they to him
if these silly creatures would not wait on him and worship him? In all
the years he had lived among them he had been greedy and selfish and
cross and ugly, and now he had not a single friend. But he didn’t blame
himself, he blamed them. And the rage shut up within him boiled and
bubbled until he foamed at the mouth. How he hated every one of them!
Oh, if he could only take off his golden tails long enough to whip the
saucy monkey! And how very nice one of those downy little chicks would
taste!
“I have all the gold in the wood,” he said at last. “I am your King
and you are too stupid to know it.”
“Only men are ruled by a man because he has gold,” said the wise old
tortoise. “We know better. Had you been brave and kind and good we
would now be proud of you. But you have thought only of yourself, now
help yourself. You have all that you wanted--be satisfied.”
“As it is daylight I don’t see very well,” said the owl, blinking, “but
it doesn’t seem to me that you are any handsomer with your nine golden
tails than you were with your old gray brush.”
The fox started. Could he believe his ears? Not any handsomer than any
common fox--he who had nine wonderful, glittering tails of purest gold?
“You are jealous of me--jealous--jealous,” he barked.
But as the animals did nothing but laugh a great fear came over him.
Perhaps after all his tails were put on wrong! It had really been quite
dark when the dragon came out, and as he was not used to giving away
golden tails, he might have made a mistake and stuck them on backward.
Something surely was the matter with them. He must go to the river at
once and see for himself.
But he who had once been so light of foot that he hardly left a track
in the softest mud as he skipped along, now found it very, very hard
to get across the little strip of grass and weeds that lay between
him and the forest mirror. He put forth every bit of his strength and
swayed and tottered along, and all the animals followed him, scampering
and laughing and pushing and shoving each other. And when he at last
reached the bank, squirm and twist as he would, he could not get a
glimpse of himself. He screwed his head around until his throat hurt,
he twisted his thin body until his ribs stuck out, he stood on three
legs and fell over on his nose trying to stand on two, but always the
tails seemed to turn around the wrong way, and the very best he could
do was to see one of them. The animals kept making fun of him as they
watched him.
“What are you going to do with them?” politely asked the bear.
“Do you have to wear them all the time?” quacked the goose.
“Oh, no, he is going to lend them to the tortoise sometimes,” snickered
the monkey. The fox, who had almost tied himself into a knot in his
efforts to throw a proper shadow, did not take the trouble to notice
them.
“One tail is enough for me,” screamed the peacock, as he spread his
shimmering fan and danced until he got so pigeon-toed he had to stop.
“My grandmother--who was nine hundred if she was a day--told me it
wasn’t any fun to be better than anybody else,” said the parrot,
snapping his bill. “One got so dreadfully lonely.”
But the fox only turned his head first to one side and then to the
other in his struggle to find out how he looked. He strained and tugged
until his tongue hung out and water dripped from his jaws, he tried
so hard to move his stiff tails that his muscles cracked, and all the
time he kept backing out, out, until he stood on the very tip edge
of the high bank. But he was so busy looking for his shadow that he
never thought about anything else, and suddenly the dirt crumbled under
his feet and without a moment’s warning he tumbled backward into the
river with such a mighty splash and splutter that all the animals got a
shower.
When he hit the water he struck out with all four of his feet, for he
was a good swimmer, but the tails of gold were like iron weights upon
his back, and he only churned the water into foam as he kicked and
snorted. Then with one great struggle that sent the ripples flying in
every direction, he shot down like a torpedo to the very bottom of the
deep river. And he never came up again! The animals shrieked and ran to
the river bank.
The stork, who had been standing on one leg all the morning, took
down his other in a hurry and hopped over into the rushes, where he
stretched his long neck as far as ever he could and peeped into the
muddy stream, the monkey wrapped his tail around a bush to keep from
falling as he screwed up one eye and tried in vain to see what had
become of the fox, Luxuriant-Thick-Mud-Master toppled off the bank in
his fright and made another splash, a fish, not knowing what to make
of so much noise, jumped out in the grass and turned a somersault, the
owl snapped both his glassy eyes, but saw nothing, the bullfrog dived
down as far as he could and came up coughing and choking, but the fox,
golden tails and all, was gone forever.
“He made a plunge where the stream was deep
And saw too late his blunder,
For he had hardly time to peep
Before his foolish head went under,”
sadly said the tortoise, who prided himself on knowing a lot of real
poetry. But the rabbit winked his long ears and whispered to the ant:
“Good riddance!”
Once again hundreds and hundreds of years went by, as they always do
if you wait a while. Every animal that had known the poor fox had been
dead a long time, and those that came after them told this tale as I
have told it to you, only they weren’t quite certain it was true, and
some of the young beasts said it was nothing but a fairy story.
But one day a pearl fisher came up the river in his little boat, and
while he was diving down in the deepest part of the water he found a
queer-looking object sticking up in the mud, and when he had brought
it ashore and washed and scrubbed it, he found it was a tail of pure
gold. Hardly believing his good fortune, he took it away with him, and
many wise men looked at it through spectacles and microscopes, and
weighed it and thumped it and tasted it and wrote long papers about it
filled with so many big words that no one ever read them.
And to-day you may see this very same tail, looking rather old and
rusty, in one of the museums of a foreign city, and beside it is a card
telling that this is undoubtedly the golden feather that the great
King No-Thing-Fan of Japan once wore in his crown, which shows that
even very wise people sometimes make mistakes. But it was the fairy
godmother to the poor pearl diver, who sold it for so much money that
he was able to buy a cozy little bamboo cottage for his family and to
ever after give them as much as they wanted to eat, and so one of the
tails of the fox did some good in the world after all.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.