Now of course this was not true at all, but the bear was very sorry and thought him a brave and loyal friend.
“You are a brave fox,” he said, “and we will always be friends.”
Then they ate all they wanted of the caribou, and left the place together.
When the fox got hungry he would just take some of the fat of the caribou from under his skin and feed on that. When the bear got hungry he could find nothing to eat but a few blueberries. The poor animal who was starving began to wonder why the fox was never hungry, so he asked him, “Cousin have you been eating something?” and the fox said, “When I am hungry, I just make a little hole in my skin and eat some of my own fat, then I am satisfied.” Wasn’t he an awful story-teller?
The bear thought he would like to try that, too, so he took a bite out of himself, and pretty soon he died. The wicked fox laughed at that, for it was the very thing he had planned. He was pleased to have the bear to eat, and removing the fat from his one-time friend, he stuffed it under his own skin, and for a long while lived not on the “fat of the land” as they say, but on the fat of the companion who trusted and admired him.
Winter was coming; the days were growing dark and cold, and Mr. Sly Fox was beginning to get hungry again. He wondered what he should do for food, and began to hunt about the woods.
One day he met a wolf who was also in search of food.
The wolf asked him, “Fox, Fox, where have you been, you look so fine and fat, while all the other animals are hungry these cold days?”
“Of course I look fine,” said the fox. “I hunt all the time and get plenty of food.”
The fox had to think hard for an answer; then he said, “Well, I fish every day.”
It was winter then, and so far north the days were very short. The sun got up late in the morning, and went to bed again in about three hours; even then he didn’t get far up in the sky, but hung low like a great big red balloon on the horizon.
The wolf asked the fox where he was getting all that fish.
The fox answered, “O, I have a big lake where I get all the fish I want. I will show it to you if you would like me to.” And he asked the wolf if he had any hooks to fish with.
“No,” said the wolf. “I have no fish-hooks because I never fish. I don’t know how.”