to do the poor magpie had to agree, and flying back,
with a heavy heart, he threw one of his young ones out of the nest. The
fox seized it in his mouth and ran off in triumph, while the magpie,
though deeply grieved for the loss of his little one, found some comfort
in the thought that only a bird of extraordinary wisdom would have
dreamed of saving the rest by the sacrifice of the one. But what do you
think happened? Why, a few days later, Michael the fox might have been
seen sitting under the very same tree, and a dreadful pang shot through
the heart of the magpie as he peeped at him from a hole in the nest.

'What are you looking at?' he asked in a trembling voice.

'At this tree. I was just thinking what good snowshoes it would make,'
answered the fox in an absent voice, as if he was not thinking of what
he was saying.

'Oh, my brother, my dear little brother, don't do that,' cried the
magpie, hopping about in his anguish. 'You know you promised only a few
days ago that you would get your snow-shoes elsewhere.'

'So I did; but though I have searched through the whole forest, there
is not a single tree that is as good as this. I am very sorry to put you
out, but really it is not my fault. The only thing I can do for you is
to offer to give up my snow-shoes altogether if you will throw me down
one of your young ones in exchange.'

And the poor magpie, in spite of his wisdom, was obliged to throw
another of his little ones out of the nest; and this time he was not
able to console himself with the thought that he had been much cleverer
than other people.

He sat on the edge of his nest, his head drooping and his feathers all
ruffled, looking the picture of misery. Indeed he was so different from
the gay, jaunty magpie whom every creature in the forest knew, that a
crow who was flying past, stopped to inquire what was the matter. 'Where
are the two young ones who are not in the nest?' asked he.

'I had to give them to the fox,' replied the magpie in a quivering
voice; 'he has been here twice in the last week, and wanted to cut down
my tree for the purpose of making snow-shoes out of it, and the only way
I could buy him off was by giving him two of my young ones.'

Oh, you fool,' cried the crow, 'the fox was only trying to frighten you.
He could not have cut down the tree, for he has neither axe nor knife.
Dear me, to think that you have sacrificed your young ones for nothing!
Dear, dear! how could you be so very