And, instead of going on to Verrieres, they turned about with their empty baskets and went back home, a sorry party, scolding and crying all the way.  But long before they reached their homes and their angry husbands Madame Fox was comfortably snoozing her after-dinner nap under the hedge; while the happy Blackbird picked up juicy bugs in the neighboring meadow, with one eye cocked to guard against being surprised a second time by any bushy-tailed rogue.

[Illustration:  He managed to flutter out of reach]

THE DOVE WHO SPOKE TRUTH

The Dove and the wrinkled little Bat once went on a journey together.  When it came towards night a storm arose, and the two companions sought everywhere for a shelter.  But all the birds were sound asleep in their nests and the animals in their holes and dens.  They could find no welcome anywhere until they came to the hollow tree where old Master Owl lived, wide awake in the dark.

“Let us knock here,” said the shrewd Bat, “I know the old fellow is not asleep.  This is his prowling hour, and but that it is a stormy night he would be abroad hunting.—­What ho, Master Owl!” he squeaked, “will you let in two storm-tossed travelers for a night’s lodging?”

Gruffly the selfish old Owl bade them enter, and grudgingly invited them to share his supper.  The poor Dove was so tired that she could scarcely eat, but the greedy Bat’s spirits rose as soon as he saw the viands spread before him.  He was a sly fellow, and immediately began to flatter his host into good humor.  He praised the Owl’s wisdom and his courage, his gallantry and his generosity; though every one knew that however wise old Master Owl might be, he was neither brave nor gallant.  As for his generosity,—­both the Dove and the Bat well remembered his selfishness towards the poor Wren, when the Owl alone of all the birds refused to give the little fire-bringer a feather to help cover his scorched and shivering body.

All this flattery pleased the Owl.  He puffed and ruffled himself, trying to look as wise, gallant, and brave as possible.  He pressed the Bat to help himself more generously to the viands, which invitation the sly fellow was not slow to accept.

During this time the Dove had not uttered a word.  She sat quite still staring at the Bat and wondering to hear such insincere speeches of flattery.  Suddenly the Owl turned to her.

“As for you, Miss Pink-eyes,” he said gruffly, “you keep careful silence.  You are a dull table-companion.  Pray, have you nothing to say for yourself?”

“Yes,” exclaimed the mischievous Bat, “have you no words of praise for our kind host?  Methinks he deserves some return for this wonderfully generous, agreeable, tasteful, well-appointed, luxurious, elegant, and altogether acceptable banquet.  What have you to say, O little Dove?”

But the Dove hung her head, ashamed of her companion, and said very simply:—­