Meanwhile, whether by accident or from negligence doesn’t not matter, the end of its tail got wet and froze to the ice.

No great harm was done; the Fox could easily remedy it. It had only to give a tolerably hard pull and leave about a score of hairs behind; then it could run home quickly before any one came.

But how could it make up its mind to spoil its tail? Such a bushy tail as it was—so ample, so golden! No; better wait a little. Surely men are sleeping still. It is even possible that a thaw may set in meanwhile. In that case it will be able to withdraw its tail easily from the ice hole.

So it waits; it goes on waiting, but its tail only freezes all the more. The Fox looks round; the day is already beginning to dawn. People are stirring; voices are to be heard. Our poor Fox begins to move wildly about, now this way and now that. But still it cannot free itself from the hole.

Luckily, a Wolf comes running that way.

"Dear friend! father!" cried the Fox; "do save me; I am all but lost!"

So the Wolf stopped and set to work to rescue the Fox. Its method was a simple one—it bit the tail clean off.

So our foolish fried went home tailless, but rejoicing that its skin was still on its back.