me,' replied the Deer, 'through disregarding a friend's advice,'

'Where is that rascal Small-wit?' asked the Crow.

'He is waiting somewhere by,' said the Deer, 'to taste my flesh,'

'Well,' sighed the Crow, 'I warned you; but it is as in the true verse--

'Stars gleam, lamps flicker, friends foretell of fate;
The fated sees, knows, hears them--all too late.'

And then, with a deeper sigh, he exclaimed,'Ah, traitor Jackal, what an
ill deed hast thou done! Smooth-tongued knave--alas!--and in the face of
the monition too--

'Absent, flatterers' tongues are daggers--present, softer than the
silk;
Shun them! 'tis a jar of poison hidden under harmless milk;
Shun them when they promise little! Shun them when they promise much!
For, enkindled, charcoal burneth--cold, it doth defile the touch.'

When the day broke, the Crow (who was still there) saw the master of the
field approaching with his club in his hand.

'Now, friend Deer,' said Sharp-sense on perceiving him, 'do thou cause
thyself to seem like one dead: puff thy belly up with wind, stiffen thy
legs out, and lie very still. I will make a show of pecking thine eyes
out with my beak; and whensoever I utter a croak, then spring to thy
feet and betake thee to flight.'

The Deer thereon placed himself exactly as the Crow suggested, and was
very soon espied by the husbandman, whose eyes opened with joy at the
sight.

'Aha!' said he, 'the fellow has died of himself,' and so speaking, he
released the Deer from the snare, and proceeded to gather and lay aside
his nets. At that instant Sharp-sense uttered a loud croak, and the Deer
sprang up and made off. And the club which the husbandman flung after
him in a rage struck Small-wit, the Jackal (who was close by), and
killed him. Is it not said, indeed?--

'In years, or moons, or half-moons three,
Or in three days--suddenly,
Knaves are shent--true men go free,'

"Thou seest, then," said Golden-skin, "there can be no friendship
between food and feeder."

"I should hardly," replied the Crow, "get a large breakfast out of your
worship; but as to that indeed you have nothing to fear from me. I am
not often angry, and if I were, you know--

'Anger comes to noble natures, but leaves there no strife or storm:
Plunge a lighted torch beneath it, and the ocean grows not warm.'

"Then, also, thou art such a gad-about," objected the King.

"Maybe," answered Light o' L