But now it began to dawn on Smirre how harmless the thing was that pursued him.  He stopped short, put the goose on the ground, and stood on her with his forepaws, so she couldn’t fly away.  He was just about to bite off her neck—­but then he couldn’t resist the desire to tease the boy a little.  “Hurry off and complain to the master, for now I’m going to bite the goose to death!” said he.

Certainly the one who was surprised when he saw what a pointed nose, and heard what a hoarse and angry voice that dog which he was pursuing had,—­was the boy!  But now he was so enraged because the fox had made fun of him, that he never thought of being frightened.  He took a firmer hold on the tail, braced himself against a beech trunk; and just as the fox opened his jaws over the goose’s throat, he pulled as hard as he could.  Smirre was so astonished that he let himself be pulled backward a couple of steps—­and the wild goose got away.  She fluttered upward feebly and heavily.  One wing was so badly wounded that she could barely use it.  In addition to this, she could not see in the night darkness of the forest but was as helpless as the blind.  Therefore she could in no way help the boy; so she groped her way through the branches and flew down to the lake again.

Then Smirre made a dash for the boy.  “If I don’t get the one, I shall certainly have the other,” said he; and you could tell by his voice how mad he was.  “Oh, don’t you believe it!” said the boy, who was in the best of spirits because he had saved the goose.  He held fast by the fox-tail, and swung with it—­to one side—­when the fox tried to catch him.

There was such a dance in that forest that the dry beech-leaves fairly flew!  Smirre swung round and round, but the tail swung too; while the boy kept a tight grip on it, so the fox could not grab him.

The boy was so gay after his success that in the beginning, he laughed and made fun of the fox.  But Smirre was persevering—­as old hunters generally are—­and the boy began to fear that he should be captured in the end.  Then he caught sight of a little, young beech-tree that had shot up as slender as a rod, that it might soon reach the free air above the canopy of branches which the old beeches spread above it.

Quick as a flash, he let go of the fox-tail and climbed the beech tree.  Smirre Fox was so excited that he continued to dance around after his tail.

“Don’t bother with the dance any longer!” said the boy.

But Smirre couldn’t endure the humiliation of his failure to get the better of such a little tot, so he lay down under the tree, that he might keep a close watch on him.

The boy didn’t have any too good a time of it where he sat, astride a frail branch.  The young beech did not, as yet, reach the high branch-canopy, so the boy couldn’t get over to another tree, and he didn’t dare to come down again.  He was so cold and numb that he almost lost his hold around the branch; and he was dreadfully sleepy; but he didn’t dare fall asleep for fear of tumbling down.