One hot afternoon, a fox was trotting along a dusty lane when he spotted something wonderful. High above his head, hanging from a tall vine that twisted along a garden wall, was a bunch of grapes.

They were plump and purple, and they glistened in the sunlight like little jewels.

"Oh my," said the fox, licking his lips. "Those grapes look absolutely delicious."

He crouched down, took a running start, and leaped into the air. His jaws snapped shut — but he missed. The grapes were too high.

He tried again. This time he jumped even higher, stretching his nose as far as it would go. But his teeth closed on nothing but air.

He backed up further. He ran faster. He sprang with all his might, twisting his body and reaching, reaching, reaching. But no matter how high he jumped, the grapes hung just out of reach.

The fox tried again and again. He jumped until his legs were tired and his paws were sore.

Finally, he sat down in the dust and stared up at the grapes. His stomach growled. His pride ached.

Then he lifted his chin, turned his nose away, and said, "Well. Those grapes are probably sour anyway. I didn't really want them."

And he trotted off down the lane as if he didn't care one bit.

But of course, the grapes weren't sour at all.