Three
times she repeated the same trick, as if to allure him on.

"Let us follow her," said Fido. "I will cut off the way and we will
soon catch her."

"Where is Pensive?" said Graceful.

"What does it matter?" replied Fido; "it is the work of an instant.
Trust to me--I was born for the chase--and the doe is ours."

Graceful did not let himself be bid twice. While Fido made a circuit
he ran after the doe, which paused among the trees as if to suffer
herself to be caught, then bounded forward as soon as the hand of the
pursuer touched her. "Courage, master!" cried Fido, as he came upon
her. But with a toss of the head, the doe flung the dog in the air,
and fled swifter than the wind.

Graceful sprang forward in pursuit. Fido, with burning eyes and
distended jaws, ran and yelped as if he were mad. They crossed
ditches, brakes, and hedges, unchecked by nothing. The wearied doe
lost ground. Graceful redoubled his ardor, and was already stretching
out his hand to seize his prey when all at once the ground gave way
beneath his feet and he fell, with his imprudent companion, into a
pit covered over with leaves. He had not recovered from his fall when
the doe, approaching the brink, cried, "You are betrayed; I am the
wife of the King of the Wolves, who is coming to eat you both." Saying
this, she disappeared.

"Alas! master," said Fido, "the fairy was right in advising you not to
follow me. We have acted foolishly and I have destroyed you."

"At all events," said Graceful, "we will defend our lives"; and,
taking his musket, he double-loaded it, in readiness for the King of
the Wolves; then, somewhat calmed, he examined the deep ditch into
which he had fallen. It was too high for him to escape from it; in
this hole he must await his death. Fido understood the look of his
friend.

"Master," said he, "if you take me in your arms and throw me with all
your might, perhaps I can reach the top; and, once there, I can help
you."

Graceful had not much hope. Three times he endeavored to throw Fido,
and three times the poor animal fell back; finally, at the fourth
effort, he caught hold of some roots, and aided himself so well with
his teeth and paws that he escaped from the tomb. He instantly threw
into the ditch the boughs which he found about the edge.

"Master," said he, "plant these branches in the earth and make
yourself a ladder. Quick! quick!" he added. "I hear the howls of the
King of the Wolves."

Graceful was