Now poor
Thumbling was in trouble, but trouble sharpens the wits, and he sprang
out so adroitly between the blows that none of them touched him, and he
escaped with a whole skin. But still he could not get away, there was
nothing for it but to let himself be thrust into a black-pudding with
the bits of bacon. His quarters there were rather confined, and besides
that he was hung up in the chimney to be smoked, and there time did hang
terribly heavy on his hands.
At length in winter he was taken down again, as the black-pudding had
to be set before a guest. When the hostess was cutting it in slices, he
took care not to stretch out his head too far lest a bit of it should be
cut off; at last he saw his opportunity, cleared a passage for himself,
and jumped out.
The little tailor, however, would not stay any longer in a house where he
fared so ill, so at once set out on his journey again. But his liberty
did not last long. In the open country he met with a fox who snapped
him up in a fit of absence. "Hollo, Mr. Fox," cried the little tailor,
"it is I who am sticking in your throat, set me at liberty again.
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