Master Fox."

The Fox saw that this might be a good plan which the bird proposed, so
she let him go.

And what do you think the Blackbird did? He began to hop, hop, hop
toward the women, dragging his wing behind him as if it were broken,
which is a trick some birds know very well.

"Look!" cried one of the women, when she caught sight of him. "Oh, look
at the little Blackbird there! His wing is broken and he cannot fly. I
shall try to catch him." And she ran as fast as she could, making her
hands into a little cage to put over him. The other women, too, set down
their baskets, for convenience--set them down right in the middle of the
road--and joined the chase after the poor little Blackbird, so lame, so
lame! But always, as they came close to him, he managed to flutter out
of reach.

Meanwhile, Madame Fox went round about by the hedge and came all quietly
and unseen to the place where the baskets waited in the road. And oh!
what a good dinner she found there; chickens and eggs and fresh cheese
nicely done up for the market. And the greedy old lady ate them all--all
the chickens and the eggs and the cheeses. My! How fat she was when all
was done.

Now the Blackbird hopped on and on for a long, long way, until, by
cocking his eye, he saw that Madame Fox had finished her dinner. And
then, houff! Up he flew, with a jolly chirp of laughter, right over the
heads of the astonished women. What of his broken wing now? He began to
whistle, to sing, to chirrup like a crazy bird up there in the air. The
women looked at one another sheepishly.

"Ah, the wicked Blackbird!" they said. "One would have thought that he
could not fly at all. But look at him, the sly creature! Oho, it is a
pretty trick he has played us!"

They turned back to where they had left their baskets, intending to
start on for the market. But when they came there--well, well! What a
shame!--they found the eggs, the chickens, the cheeses all gone--eaten
up by the greedy Fox. And then they began to scold and cry.

"Oh, what misfortune!" they wailed. "We have lost our eggs, our
chickens, and our cheeses, and there is nothing left to carry to market.
We have not even a Blackbird to show for our morning's work. Oh dear! oh
dear! It is all the fault of that wicked, deceitful little bird."

And, instead of going on to Verrieres, they turned about with their
empty baskets and went back home, a sorry party, scolding and crying all
the way. But long before they