“Papa,” said one of the little foxes, in a voice so grave that all the others stopped to listen; “Papa, when you take what is not yours, is not that stealing?”

“Yes, my dear, clever little foxy—it is.”

“And isn’t it very wrong to steal?”

“What a wise little dear it is! Yes, my son, it is wrong for men, and women, and children to steal; very wrong indeed, but it is not wrong for foxes to do so.”

All the little foxes stared in silent surprise; then they winked at each other, and, bursting into a loud laugh, sprang up, and rolled, leaped, tumbled, wriggled their tails, and whisked about with shrieks of delight, so that it seemed as if there were at least fifty little foxes there instead of ten.—Suddenly they all stopped!

“I say, Papa,” cried one, “may we all steal, then?”

“Yes, my children, you may.”

“And are you quite sure and certain that it would be very naughty in little boys and girls to steal?”

“Quite sure, my dears, and certain.” Again a yell of delight filled the cavern, and the little foxes danced and twirled until their father, with a loud voice, bade them be quiet and prepare for supper.