It happened that the cat met the fox in a forest, and as she thought toherself: 'He is clever and full of experience, and much esteemed in theworld,' she spoke to him in a friendly way. 'Good day, dear Mr Fox,how are you? How is all with you? How are you getting on in these hardtimes?' The fox, full of all kinds of arrogance, looked at the cat fromhead to foot, and for a long time did not know whether he would giveany answer or not. At last he said: 'Oh, you wretched beard-cleaner, youpiebald fool, you hungry mouse-hunter, what can you be thinking of? Haveyou the cheek to ask how I am getting on? What have you learnt? Howmany arts do you understand?' 'I understand but one,' replied thecat, modestly. 'What art is that?' asked the fox. 'When the hounds arefollowing me, I can spring into a tree and save myself.' 'Is that all?'said the fox. 'I am master of a hundred arts, and have into the bargaina sackful of cunning. You make me sorry for you; come with me, I willteach you how people get away from the hounds.' Just then came a hunterwith four dogs. The cat sprang nimbly up a tree, and sat down at the topof it, where the branches and foliage quite concealed her. 'Open yoursack, Mr Fox, open your sack,' cried the cat to him, but the dogs hadalready seized him, and were holding him fast. 'Ah, Mr Fox,' cried thecat. 'You with your hundred arts are left in the lurch! Had you beenable to climb like me, you would not have lost your life.'