Drakestail was very little, that is why he was called Drakestail; but tiny as he was he had brains, and he knew what he was about, for having begun with nothing he ended by amassing a hundred crowns. Now the King of the country, who was very extravagant and never kept any money, having heard that Drakestail had some, went one day in his own person to borrow his hoard, and, my word, in those days Drakestail was not a little proud of having lent money to the King. But after the first and second year, seeing that they never even dreamed of paying the interest, he became uneasy, so much so that at last he resolved to go and see His Majesty himself, and get repaid. So one fine morning Drakestail, very spruce and fresh, takes the road, singing: ‘Quack, quack, quack, when shall I get my money back?’ He had not gone far when he met friend Fox, on his rounds that way. ‘Good-morning, neighbour,’ says the friend, ‘where are you off to so early?’ ‘I am going to the King for what he owes me.’ ‘Oh! take me with thee!’ Drakestail said to himself: ‘One can’t have too many friends.’ ... ‘I will,’ says he, ‘but going on all-fours you will soon be tired. Make yourself quite small, get into my throat—go into my gizzard and I will carry you.’ ‘Happy thought!’ says friend Fox. He takes bag and baggage, and, presto! is gone like a letter into the post. And Drakestail is off again, all spruce and fresh, still singing: ‘Quack, quack, quack, when shall I have my money back?’ He had not gone far when he met his lady-friend Ladder, leaning on her wall. ‘Good morning, my duckling,’ says the lady friend, ‘whither away so bold?’ ‘I am going to the King for what he owes me.’ ‘Oh! take me with thee!’ Drakestail said to himself: ‘One can’t have too many friends.’ ... ‘I will,’ says he, ‘but with your wooden legs you will soon be tired. Make yourself quite small, get into my throat—go into my gizzard and I will carry you.’ ‘Happy thought!’ says my friend Ladder, and nimble, bag and baggage, goes to keep company with friend Fox. And ‘Quack, quack, quack.’ Drakestail is off again, singing and spruce as before. A little farther he meets his sweetheart, my friend River, wandering quietly in the sunshine. ‘Thou, my cherub,’ says she, ‘whither so lonesome, with arching tail, on this muddy road?’ ‘I am going to the King, you know, for what he owes me.’ ‘Oh! take me with thee!’ Drakestail said to himself: ‘We can’t be too many friends.’... ‘I will,’ says he, ‘but you who sleep while you walk will soon be tired. Make yourself quite small, get into my throat—go into my gizzard and I will carry you.’ ‘Ah! happy thought!’ says my friend River. She takes bag and baggage, and glou, glou, glou, she takes her place between friend Fox and my friend Ladder. And ‘Quack, quack, quack.’ Drakestail is off again singing. A little farther on he meets comrade Wasp’s-nest, manoeuvring his wasps.