"No, thanks, I can help myself well enough," said the man, who set to binding Bruin fast with all the ropes he had, so that at last the bear couldn't stir a paw.
"Such fir-stumps we always drive our axes into in our part of the world," bawled out the voice; "for then we guide them better going down the steep pitches."
"Pretend to drive your axe into me, do now," said the Bear.
Then the man took up his axe, and at one blow split the bear's skull, so that Bruin lay dead in a trice, and so the man and the fox were great friends, and on the best terms. But when they came near the farm, the Fox said,—
"I've no mind to go right home with you, for I can't say I like your tykes; so I'll just wait here, and you can bring the wether to me, but mind and pick out one nice and fat."
Yes, the man would be sure to do that, and thanked the fox much for his help. So when he had put up Dobbin, he went across to the sheep-stall.
"Whither away, now?" asked his old dame.
"Oh!" said the man, "I'm only going to the sheep-stall to fetch a fat wether for that cunning fox who set our Dobbin free. I gave him my word I would."
"Wether, indeed," said the old dame; "never a one shall that thief of a fox get. Haven't we got Dobbin safe and the bear into the bargain; and as for the fox, I'll be bound he's stolen more of our geese than the wether is worth; and even if he hasn't stolen them, he will. No, no; take a brace of your swiftest hounds in a sack, and slip them loose after him; and then, perhaps, we shall be rid of this robbing Reynard."
