There is no greater flatterer in the Green Forest or on the Green
Meadows than Blacky the Crow when he hopes to gain something thereby.
His tongue is so smooth that it is a wonder it does not drip oil. He is
crafty, is Blacky. But these same things are true of Reddy Fox. No one
ever yet had a chance to accuse Reddy Fox of lacking in sharp wits.
Mistakes he makes, as everybody does, but Reddy's wits are always keen
and active.

Now Reddy knew perfectly well that Blacky wanted something of him, and
this was why he was saying such pleasant things. Blacky the Crow knew
that Reddy knew this thing, and that if he would make use of Reddy as he
hoped to, he must contrive to keep Reddy wholly in the dark as to what
he wanted done.

So as they sat there, Reddy Fox on the snow with his tail curled around
his feet to keep them warm, and Blacky the Crow in the top of a little
tree above Reddy's head, they were playing a sort of game. It was red
wits against black wits. Reddy was trying to outguess Blacky, and
Blacky was trying to outguess Reddy, and both were enjoying it. People
with sharp wits always enjoy matching their wits against other sharp
wits.

When Reddy Fox said that in spite of his fine appearance he had
forgotten when last he had had a good meal, Blacky pretended to think he
was joking. "You surprise me," said he. "Whatever is the matter with my
good friend Reddy, that he goes hungry when he no longer has anything to
fear from Bowser the Hound. By the way, I saw Bowser the other day."

At this, just for an instant, Reddy's eyes flew wide open. Then they