By a lake full of fish there lived a heron who had grown old and slow. His eyes were still sharp, but his legs no longer darted fast enough to catch his dinner. So the cunning bird thought of a plan that needed no speed at all — only lies. He stood at the water's edge, drooping and dripping tears, refusing even to look at the fish swimming past his feet.
“Uncle, why do you weep?” the curious fish finally asked. The heron sighed like a saint. “Dear children, I have given up catching fish; I now live only on prayers. But I have heard terrible news — fishermen are coming with great nets to empty this lake, and drought will finish what they leave. My heart breaks for you all.” The fish trembled and begged him to save them. “Well,” said the heron slowly, “I know a deep, beautiful lake not far away. If you wish, I can carry you there, a few at a time, in my beak.”
The grateful fish lined up eagerly, and every morning the heron flew off with a beakful of passengers. But he took them no farther than a large flat rock behind the hill, where he ate them at his leisure. Day after day the wicked bird grew fat, and the pile of bones on the rock grew higher.
At last the crab's turn came. Wanting a change of taste, the heron agreed to carry him, and the crab gripped the heron's neck with his claws for the journey. But as they flew, the crab looked down — and saw the rock gleaming white with fish bones. His heart went cold as he understood everything. As the heron swooped toward the rock, the crab tightened his strong claws around the deceiver's thin neck, harder and harder, until the heron's wings folded forever. Then the crab crawled slowly back to the lake and told the fish how the kindly old saint had really been serving them, and the whole lake gave thanks for the escape.