Then the fox really begins his performance. He jumps high to snap at
imaginary flies; he chases his bushy tail; he rolls over and over in
clouds of flying sand; he gallops up the shore, and back like a
whirlwind; he plays peekaboo with every bush. The foolish birds grow
excited; they swim in smaller circles, quacking nervously, drawing
nearer and nearer to get a better look at the strange performance.
They are long in coming, but curiosity always gets the better of them;
those in the rear crowd the front rank forward. All the while the show
goes on, the performer paying not the slightest attention apparently
to his excited audience; only he draws slowly back from the water's
edge, as if to give them room as they crowd nearer.
They are on shore at last; then, while they are lost in the most
astonishing caper of all, the fox dashes among them, throwing them
into the wildest confusion. His first snap never fails to throw a duck
back onto the sand with a broken neck; and he has generally time for a
second, often for a third, before the flock escapes into deep water.
Then he buries all his birds but one, throws that across his
shoulders, and trots off, wagging his head, to some quiet spot where
he can eat his dinner and take a good nap undisturbed.
When with all his cunning Reynard is caught napping, he makes use of
another good trick he knows.
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