And lying in a
cave, concealed with care, he imitated the _boo-oo-oo_ of a
falling stream with quaint and wondrous skill. And there he lay, and no
man wist thereof.
But verily the wicked one is caught in his own snare, and even so it
befell Master Lox. For as he hid, the water above, having gathered to a
great lake, burst the dam, so that it all came down upon him at once
and drowned him; nor was there any great weeping for him that ever I
heard of. So here he passes out of this story, and does not come into
it again. But whether he went for good and all out of this life is
doubtful, since I find him living again in so many rare, strange
histories that it has become a proverb that Lox never dies.
Now the tale returns to the two little Weasels, or Ermines, or
Water-Maids, poor souls, who had such a hard life! And it happened
that, fleeing from Master Lox, they came at evening to a deserted
village, and entered a wigwam to pass the night. But the elder, being
the wiser, and somewhat of a witch in the bud, mistrusted the place,
deeming it not so empty as it seemed. And beholding by the door, lying
on the ground, the Neckbone of a man or some other animal, she warned
her sister that she should in nowise offend it or treat it lightly, to
which the younger replied by giving it a kick which sent it flying, and
by otherwise treating it with scorn and disdain.
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