The Fox Who Said Thank You

In the middle of Fernwood, where the ferns grew taller than rabbits and the old oak tree grew taller than everything, there lived a fox called Rufus.

Rufus had a coat the colour of autumn leaves, four neat black socks, and a big bushy tail with a white tip, like it had been dipped in cream. And Rufus was clever. Very clever. The cleverest fox in the whole of Fernwood, and he would be the first to tell you so.

But Rufus never asked for anything. Asking was boring. And he never, ever said please or thank you. Those were silly little words for silly little animals.

No. When Rufus wanted something, he played a trick.

Every morning he would stretch, and grin a long, pointy grin, and trot off into the ferns, singing his favourite song:

"Swish goes the tail and twitch goes the nose,
clever old Rufus, off he goes!"

And everyone in Fernwood would sigh, and hide their snacks.

One sunny morning, Rufus found Old Bramble the badger picking blackberries.

Old Bramble had been picking all morning. He had a whole pile of them on a big leaf, fat and purple and shiny, and he was just about to have his lunch.

Rufus's tummy rumbled. He could have said, "Please may I have some?" But that would have been far too ordinary.

Instead, he pointed his nose behind Old Bramble and gasped. "Bramble! Don't move! There's a GIANT SLUG behind you! It's as big as a cabbage and it's looking at your bottom!"

"A WHAT?" yelped Old Bramble, and he spun round so fast he fell over in a heap.

While he was looking for the giant slug, Rufus scooped up every single blackberry and gobbled them down. Gulp, gulp, gulp.

By the time the badger turned back, there was nothing left but a purple-stained leaf and a fox with a very purple grin.

"Swish goes the tail and twitch goes the nose," sang Rufus, and off he trotted.

That afternoon, Rufus found Hazel the squirrel, busy burying nuts for the winter.

Rufus hid behind a hollow tree and put on his deepest, most rumbly voice.

"Hazzzzel," he boomed. "I am the Spirit of the Tree. I am very old, and very wise, and very… hungry."

Hazel froze, her tail fluffed up like a bottle brush. "A t-talking tree?"

"Indeed," rumbled Rufus. "Put all your nuts into my hollow, little squirrel, and I shall grant you… er… very good luck. For ever."

Hazel was a little bit scared and a little bit excited, so she scampered back and forth, back and forth, dropping hazelnuts into the hollow. Plink, plink, plink.

Then she sat and waited for her very good luck.

Behind the tree, Rufus crunched happily. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"Spirit of the Tree?" said Hazel after a while. "Why are you crunching?"

But the Spirit of the Tree had already trotted off, licking his lips, with a hazelnut shell stuck to his whiskers.

On the way home, Rufus spotted Clementine the crow, sitting on a branch with a big piece of cheese in her beak. She had found it after a picnic, and she was very proud of it.

Rufus sat down beneath the branch and clasped his paws.

"Oh, Clementine," he sighed. "Your feathers are so shiny. Your eyes are so bright. I have heard that you have the most beautiful singing voice in all of Fernwood. Won't you sing just one little note for me?"

Clementine puffed out her chest. Nobody had ever said she had a beautiful singing voice before. Mostly they said, "Oh no, it's the crow again."

She opened her beak wide and sang: "CAAAAAW!"

And down fell the cheese. Plop. Right into Rufus's open mouth.

"Mmm, delicious," said Rufus, with his mouth full. "And your singing is… very loud. Bye!"

That night, Rufus curled up in his den with a tummy full of blackberries, nuts and cheese.

"I am SO clever," he yawned. And he fell asleep, smiling.

But that same evening, under the big old oak tree, all the animals of Fernwood were having a meeting.

Old Bramble was there, still a little bit purple. Hazel was there, with no nuts at all. Clementine was there, with no cheese and a sore throat. And the rabbits were there, and the robins, and the owl, and the hedgehog, who had once been tricked out of a whole apple.

"I am fed up," said Old Bramble.

"Fed up," said Hazel.

"CAW," said Clementine, which meant fed up in crow.

"Shall we play a trick on him?" squeaked a young rabbit.

Old Bramble shook his big striped head. "No. Two tricks don't make anything better. Here's what we'll do. Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. No more listening to his tall tales. No more falling for his clever words. We'll keep our snacks close and our ears closed."

And everybody nodded. Even the owl, who mostly just said "Who?"

The next morning, Rufus trotted off to play his tricks as usual.

"Bramble!" he gasped. "There's a GIANT SLUG behind you!"

"No, there isn't," said Old Bramble, without even turning round. And he went on eating his mushrooms.

Rufus blinked. That had never happened before.

He went to the hollow tree. "Hazzzzel," he boomed. "I am the Spirit of the—"

"No, you're not," called Hazel from the top of the tree. "You're a fox. I can see your tail."

Rufus looked behind him. His big white-tipped tail was sticking out of the hollow like a flag.

He tried Clementine. "Oh, Clementine, what a lovely singing voice you—"

But Clementine just swallowed her breakfast in one gulp and said, "Caw. Nice try."

All day long, Rufus tried his very cleverest tricks. He pretended to be a bush. He pretended to be a lost duckling. He even put a leaf on his head and pretended to be a mushroom.

Nobody fell for any of them.

By the end of the week, the first frost had come to Fernwood. The ferns had turned crispy and brown. The puddles had a thin skin of ice. And Rufus's tummy was rumbling louder than ever.

"I need one more trick," he muttered. "One really big, really clever trick."

He saw a fat red apple, hanging over the stream on the very end of a branch. If he crept along the branch very carefully, and stretched out his paw very far…

Creak, went the branch.

"Nearly," said Rufus.

Crack, went the branch.

SPLOSH, went Rufus, right into the icy stream.

He scrambled out onto the bank, dripping and shivering, with water in his ears and weed on his nose. The apple floated away down the stream, bobbing as if it were laughing at him.

The sky was turning dark blue. The wind was cold. And for the very first time in his life, the cleverest fox in Fernwood didn't know what to do.

That night, it began to snow.

Soft white flakes came drifting down through the trees, landing on the ferns, landing on the stream, landing on the tip of Rufus's cold black nose.

Rufus trudged through the wood, wet and hungry and alone. Every den he passed was closed up tight. Behind every door he could hear warm, happy sounds: chattering and laughing and the clink of little cups. But nobody called out, "Come in, Rufus."

At last, he stopped at the roots of an old hawthorn tree. Tucked between the roots was a door. A tiny, round wooden door, just the right size for a mouse, set deep in the bark. And through the window glowed a warm, golden light.

Rufus's clever brain began to whir. Maybe he could trick whoever lived inside. Maybe he could pretend to be…

But he was too cold and too tired to think of anything at all.

So he just sat down in the snow beside the little door, and shivered.

Creak. The tiny door opened.

Out peeped a mouse. A very small mouse, with golden-brown fur, enormous round ears and bright black eyes like two blackcurrants. She was holding a candle in one paw.

She looked up at Rufus. Rufus looked down at her. He was about a hundred times bigger than she was.

"Goodness," said the mouse. "You're shivering. And your tummy is rumbling so loudly I thought it was thunder."

"I'm f-fine," said Rufus, through chattering teeth.

The mouse disappeared back inside. Rufus heard clattering and pattering. Then out she came again, pushing something in front of her: a round, crumbly seed cake, studded with sunflower seeds, still warm from her tiny oven.

She broke it carefully in half. She kept one half for herself. And she held the other half up to Rufus.

"Here," she said. "I'm Tilly. You can warm your nose by my door, if you like."

Rufus stared at the cake. Then he stared at Tilly.

"What's the trick?" he said suspiciously.

"There's no trick," said Tilly.

"There's always a trick," said Rufus. "Do you want me to fetch you something? Do you want me to fall over? Is there a giant slug behind me?"

Tilly giggled. "No. You're cold and you're hungry, and I've got cake. That's all."

Very slowly, Rufus took the cake. He lay down in the snow beside the little round door, where the warm air puffed out and tickled his nose, and he took a bite.

It was the best thing he had ever tasted. Better than blackberries. Better than hazelnuts. Even better than cheese. It tasted of seeds and honey and warm kitchens, and somehow it made him feel warm all the way down to his black socks.

When he had finished every crumb, Tilly sat and waited, looking at him with her bright black eyes.

"Now," she said kindly, "you say thank you."

Rufus opened his mouth. Then he closed it again.

He had never said thank you before. Not once. Not ever.

"Th-th…" he tried. The word felt very strange in his mouth, like a pebble, or a brand-new tooth.

"Thhhh…" he tried again. "Thhhank…"

Tilly nodded encouragingly.

"Thank… you," said Rufus.

And then something very odd happened. A warm feeling started in the middle of his chest, and spread out, and out, all the way to the tip of his tail, as if he had swallowed a little piece of sunshine.

His ears popped up. His eyes went wide.

"Ooh," said Rufus. "What was THAT?"

Tilly clapped her tiny paws. "That's what happens!" she squeaked. "My granny always says:

Two little words, as light as snow,
open the doors where tricks can't go."

Rufus said it again, just to check. "Thank you."

There it was again. Sunshine.

All the way home through the snowy wood, Rufus practised.

"Thank you," he said to a tree he passed.

The tree said nothing, but it seemed to be standing up a little straighter.

"Thank you," he said to a frozen puddle, for being so shiny.

"Thank you," he said to the moon, for lighting the way.

"Thank you," he said to his own tail, for being so bushy and warm. Then he chased it round in a circle three times, just to make sure it had heard.

"WHO?" hooted a voice from above. It was the owl, staring down at him with enormous round eyes. "Who are you talking to?"

"YOU!" said Rufus happily. "Thank you, Owl! Thank you for… for hooting!"

The owl was so surprised that she nearly fell off her branch.

And every single time Rufus said it, the sunshine feeling came back. By the time he got to his den, he felt so warm that he hardly noticed the snow at all.

The next morning, Rufus went to find Old Bramble.

The badger was trying to dig out the entrance to his sett, which was buried under a big drift of snow. He saw Rufus coming and frowned. "If you say giant slug, I'm going back to bed."

Rufus took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "About the blackberries. That was a mean trick. Can I help you dig?"

Old Bramble's mouth fell open. He was so surprised he didn't say anything at all.

So Rufus started digging. And Rufus was a very good digger. Snow and earth went flying, flump, flump, flump, and in no time at all the door to the sett was clear.

Old Bramble looked at his door. Then he looked at Rufus.

"Well," he said gruffly. "Thank you."

"No," said Rufus, beaming. "Thank YOU. For letting me help."

And for the very first time, Old Bramble smiled at him. It was a big, slow, stripy smile.

"Two little words, as light as snow," hummed Rufus, trotting away.

Next, Rufus went to find Hazel.

The squirrel was in a terrible state. She was running round and round in circles in the snow. "My nuts!" she wailed. "I buried them all over the wood, and now the snow's covered everything, and I can't remember where ANY of them are!"

Rufus thought for a moment. He had a very clever brain. But he also had a very clever nose.

"Let me try," he said.

He put his nose down into the snow and sniffed. Sniff, sniff, sniff. Then he dug. And there, under the snow, was a little pile of hazelnuts.

"MY NUTS!" squealed Hazel, leaping into the air.

Sniff, sniff, dig. Another pile. Sniff, sniff, dig. Another! By lunchtime, Rufus had found every single one.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" cried Hazel, and she gave him the biggest hazelnut of all.

"Thank you," said Rufus, and meant it.

But there was still someone he needed to see. Someone with shiny black feathers, and a very long memory.

Clementine was sitting on a snowy log, looking grumpy.

When she saw Rufus, she held her breakfast very tightly in her claws. "Don't even try it," she croaked.

"I'm not going to," said Rufus. "I've come to say sorry. I tricked you, and I laughed at your singing, and that was horrible of me."

Clementine tilted her head. One bright black eye looked at him very carefully.

"I brought you something," said Rufus. He put down a pebble he had found in the stream. It was smooth and round, and it sparkled with tiny silver flecks, like a little piece of the night sky.

Clementine loved shiny things more than anything in the world. She hopped closer and turned it over with her beak.

"Is this a trick?" she asked.

"No trick," said Rufus. "And your singing is still very loud. But it's a very good loud. Nobody could ever sleep through it."

Clementine looked at him for a long moment. Then she gave a croaky laugh. "Caw," she said. "Thank you, fox."

That evening, as the sun set pink over the snow, there was a knock-knock-knock at the door of Rufus's den.

It was a young rabbit, the same one who had wanted to play a trick on him. She was holding a big golden leaf in her mouth.

"Thish ish for you," she said, through the leaf. Then she put it down. "I mean, this is for you. It's an invitation. To the Midwinter Feast. Tomorrow night, under the big oak."

Rufus stared at the leaf. In all his life, he had never been invited to the Midwinter Feast. Not once. Every year he had watched the lanterns glowing under the oak from far away, and told himself he didn't care.

"For me?" he said. "Really?"

"Really," said the rabbit. "Everybody has to bring something to share."

"Thank you," said Rufus, and his voice came out a bit wobbly.

When the rabbit had gone, he sat for a long time looking at the golden leaf. What could he bring? He didn't have any cake. He didn't have any nuts.

Then his nose twitched.

The next night, the big old oak tree was strung with tiny glowing lanterns, like stars that had come down to visit. Underneath, on a carpet of moss, was the most wonderful feast. Mushrooms from Old Bramble. Nuts from Hazel. Berries from the robins. Seed cakes from Tilly, a whole tower of them.

And then Rufus arrived, pushing something with his nose. A whole pile of red apples, rolling and tumbling over the snow.

"Apples!" gasped everyone. "In winter? Where did you find them?"

"I sniffed them out," said Rufus shyly. "They fell from the old orchard tree in autumn, and the leaves covered them up, and everyone forgot. But my nose didn't."

"Thank you, Rufus!" cried the rabbits.

"Thank you, Rufus!" cried the robins.

"Thank you, fox," croaked Clementine.

All those thank yous came at him at once, and the sunshine feeling was so big that Rufus thought he might float up into the branches like a lantern.

Tilly ran up his leg and sat on his head. "Told you," she whispered.

After the feast, Old Bramble tapped an acorn cup with a twig. Tink, tink.

"Speech!" he said. "Speech from the fox!"

Rufus stood up. Everyone went quiet. Tilly held on tight to his ear.

"Er," said Rufus. "I just wanted to say… thank you. Thank you, Bramble, for the mushrooms. Thank you, Hazel, for the nuts. Thank you, Clementine, for singing. Loudly. Thank you, rabbits, for the invitation. Thank you, Tilly, for the cake, and for the two little words."

He was getting carried away now.

"Thank you, lanterns, for glowing. Thank you, oak tree, for being an oak tree. Thank you, snow, for being so… snowy. Thank you, moon. Thank you, my tail…"

Everyone was laughing now. Not the mean kind of laughing. The warm, happy kind, the kind that makes your tummy ache in a good way.

"Thank you, Rufus," said Old Bramble, wiping his eyes. "Now sit down, or we'll be here till spring."

Late that night, the feast was over. The lanterns were growing dim. One by one, the animals said goodnight, and thank you, and goodnight again, and went home to their warm beds.

Rufus walked home slowly through the quiet wood. The snow was falling again, very softly now, big feathery flakes that drifted down without a sound.

Tilly was riding with him, curled up in the fluffy white tip of his tail, because her little legs were tired. Every now and then she gave a tiny mouse snore. Pip, pip, pip.

Rufus didn't swish his tail, not even once, in case he woke her.

The wood was hushed and white and silver. The stream whispered under its ice. Somewhere far off, the owl said, "Who?" very sleepily, and then didn't say anything else.

Rufus hummed, so quietly that only the snowflakes could hear:

"Two little words, as light as snow,
open the doors where tricks can't go."

Rufus carried Tilly all the way home to her little round door, and tucked her into her tiny bed without waking her up. Then he went home to his own den, under the roots of the big old beech.

He turned round three times, the way foxes do. He curled up into a warm, round, russet ball. He wrapped his big bushy tail over his nose like a blanket.

Outside, the snow was still falling. Soft. Slow. Quiet.

His tummy was full. His paws were warm. And his heart felt the warmest of all.

Rufus thought about all the clever tricks he used to play. They seemed very small now, and very far away.

He yawned an enormous, pointy yawn.

"Thank you," he whispered, to the snow, and the moon, and the whole of Fernwood. "Thank you for today."

And the cleverest fox in Fernwood, who was now also the kindest, closed his amber eyes, and fell fast asleep.

Swish… went his tail, just once.

And then, not even that.