Chapter VI

Have I left a single stone unturned to carry my point? demanded the Wolf of himself. Yes, there is a chance for me yet. I have it! And full of hope he came to the cottage of the sixth shepherd.

“Look at me, Shepherd!” he cried. “Am I not a splendid quadruped for my years? What’s your opinion of my skin?”

“Very handsome and glossy indeed,” said the Shepherd. “You don’t seem to have been much worried by the dogs.”

“No, Shepherd, no,” replied Isegrim, “I have not been much worried by dogs, but I have been and am worried, awfully worried, Shepherd, by hunger. Now, the case being so, as you admire my skin, you and I shall strike a bargain. I am grown old, and cannot live many days longer: feed me then to death, cram me to the gullet, Shepherd, and I’ll bequeath you my beautiful skin!”

“Upon my word!” exclaimed the Shepherd. “You come to the person of all on earth most interested in compassing your death, and you demand of him the means to enable you to live. How modest of you! No, no, my good fellow, your skin would cost me in the end seven times its worth. If you really wish to make me a present of it, give it to me now. Here’s a knife, and I’ll warrant you I’ll disembarrass you of it before you can say Trapstick.”

But the Wolf had already scampered off.