a fox, having crept into an outhouse, looked up and down for something to eat, and at last espied a hen sitting upon a perch so high that he could be no means come at her. he therefore had recourse to an old stratagem.

"dear cousin," said he to her, "how do you do? i heard that you were ill and kept at home; i could not rest, therefore, till i had come to see you. pray let me feel your pulse. indeed, you do not look well at all."

he was running on in this impudent manner, when the hen answered him from the roost: "truly, dear reynard, you are in the right. i was seldom in more danger than i am now. pray excuse my coming down; i am sure i should catch my death."

the fox, finding himself foiled by the hen's cleverness, made off and tried his luck elsewhere.