“Mee-dau-mee-nau-bo,” was the reply. (This is a porridge made of parched corn, slightly cracked.)

The fox turned up his little sharp nose.  “No, I thank you,” said he; “I can get plenty of that at home.”

The messenger returned to the chief, and reported the contemptuous refusal of the fox.

“Go back to him,” said the chief, “and tell him we are going to have a nice fresh body,[48] and we will have it cooked in the most delicate manner possible.”

Pleased with the prospect of such a treat, the fox gave a very hearty assent to the second invitation.

The hour arrived, and he set off for the lodge of the chief to attend the feast.  The company were all prepared for him, for they made common cause with their friend who had been insulted.  As the fox entered, the guest next the door, with great courtesy, rose from his place, and begged the new-comer to be seated.  Immediately the person next him also rose, and insisted that the fox should occupy his place, as it was still nearer the fire—­the post of honor.  Then the third, with many expressions of civility, pressed him to exchange with him; and thus, with many ceremonious flourishes, he was passed along the circle, always approaching the fire, where a huge cauldron stood, in which the good cheer was still cooking.  The fox was by no means unwilling to occupy the highest place in the assembly, and, besides, he was anxious to take a peep into the kettle, for he had his suspicions that he might be disappointed of the delicacies he had been expecting.

So, by degrees, he was ushered nearer and nearer the great blazing fire, until by a dexterous push and shove he was hoisted into the seething kettle.

His feet were dreadfully scalded, but he leaped out, and ran home to his lodge, howling and crying with pain.  His grandmother, with whom, according to the custom of animals, he lived, demanded of him an account of the affair.  When he had faithfully related all the circumstances (for, unlike the civilized animals, he did not think of telling his grandmother a story), she reproved him very strongly.

“You have committed two great faults,” said she.  “In the first place, you were very rude to the chief who was so kind as to invite you, and by returning insult for civility you made yourself enemies who were determined to punish you.  In the next place, it was very unbecoming in you to be so forward to take the place of honor.  Had you been contented modestly to keep your seat near the door, you would have escaped the misfortune that has befallen you.”

All this was not very consolatory to the poor fox, who continued to whine and cry most piteously, while his grandmother, having finished her lecture, proceeded to bind up his wounds.  Great virtue is supposed to be added to all medical prescriptions and applications by a little dancing; so, the dressing having been applied, the grandmother fell to dancing with all her might, round and round in the lodge.