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Bruin Goodfellow
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sat, holding fast as well as he could, and he glared and grinned on all sides, and he thought of throwing himself off, but he was not used to sledge travelling, and so he made up his mind to sit still where he was.

So when he had driven a good bit he met a pedlar.

"Whither, in heaven's name, is the sheriff bound to-day? He has surely little time and a long way, he drives so fast."

But Bruin said never a word, for all he could do was to stick fast.

A little farther on a beggar-woman met him. She nodded to him and greeted him, and begged for a penny in God's name. But Bruin said never a word, but stuck fast and drove on faster than ever.

So when he had gone a bit farther, Reynard the fox met him.

"Ho! ho!" said Reynard, "are you out taking a drive? Stop a bit, and let me get up behind and be your postboy."

But still Bruin said never a word, but held on like grim death, and drove on as fast as the horse could lay legs to the ground.

"Well, well," screamed Reynard after him, "if you won't take me with you I'll spae your fortune; and that is, though you drive like a daredevil to-day, you'll be hanging up to-morrow with the hide off your back."

But Bruin never heard a word that Reynard said. On and on he drove just as fast; but when the horse got to the farm, he galloped into the open stable door at full speed, so that he tore off both sledge and harness, and as for poor Bruin, he knocked his skull against the lintel, and there he lay dead on the spot.