"Well, not quite always," said the Mastiff; "but what can that matter?"
"It matters so much to me," rejoined the Wolf, "that your lot shall not be mine at
any price"; and, leaping away, he ran once more to his native forest.
The Tail of the Serpent
The Tail of a Serpent once rebelled against the Head, and said that it was a great
shame that one end of any animal should always have its way, and drag the other
after it, whether it was willing or no. It was in vain that the Head urged that the
Tail had neither brains nor eyes, and that it was in no way made to lead.
Wearied by the Tail's importunity, the Head one day let him have his will. The
Serpent now went backward for a long time quite gayly, until he came to the
edge of a high cliff, over which both Head and Tail went flying, and came with a
heavy thump on the shore beneath.
The Head, it may be supposed, was never again troubled by the Tail with a word
about leading.
The Falcon and the Capon
A Capon, who had strong reasons for thinking that the time of his sacrifice was
near at hand, carefully avoided coming into close quarters with any of the farm
servants or domestics of the estate on which he lived. A glimpse that he had once
caught of the kitchen, with its blazing fire, and the head cook, like an
executioner, with a formidable knife chopping off the heads of some of his
companions, had been sufficient to keep him ever after in dread.
Hence, one day when he was wanted for roasting, all calling, clucking, and
coaxing of the cook's assistants were in vain.
"How deaf and dull you must be," said a Falcon to the Capon, "not to hear when
you are called, or to see when you are wanted! You should take pattern by me. I
never let my master call me twice."