One’s Own Children are Always the Prettiest.
A hunter went out once into a wood to shoot, and he met a Snipe.
"Dear friend," said the Snipe, "don't shoot my children?"
"How shall I know your children?" asked the hunter; "what are they like?"
"Oh!" said the Snipe, "mine are the prettiest children in all the wood."
"Very well," said the hunter, "I'll not shoot them; don't be afraid."
But for all that, when he came back, there he had a whole string of young snipes in his hand which he had shot…
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