The Hare and the Tortoise

Everyone in the meadow knew that the Hare was the fastest runner around. He was proud of this, and not entirely without reason — but he was also rather too fond of making sure that everyone else knew it too.

One spring morning, as he was trotting past the pond showing off the speed of his legs, he nearly stepped on the Tortoise, who was making her slow and careful way along the path.

"Out of the way, slow-poke!" cried the Hare. "At this rate you'll still be here when winter comes."

The Tortoise looked up at him without hurrying. "Perhaps," she said. "But I wonder — shall we race? From here to the chestnut tree at the top of the hill. I believe I can beat you."

The other animals who had gathered to watch burst into laughter. Race the Tortoise? The Hare laughed loudest of all.

"Done!" he said. "I'll even give you a head start."

"No need," said the Tortoise. And they both set off.

The Hare was a quarter of the way up the hill before the Tortoise had gone ten steps. He glanced back and laughed again. Then he noticed a wonderfully comfortable patch of clover in the sunshine, and sat down for a rest. The race was as good as won, he thought; he could sleep for an hour and still have time to stroll across the finish.

He curled up and was asleep in minutes.

The Tortoise did not look back. She walked slowly and steadily up the hill, one foot in front of the other, without hurrying and without stopping. She noticed the clover patch. She noticed the sleeping Hare. She plodded past both.

When the Hare woke up with a start and scrambled to his feet, he could see, at the top of the hill, the Tortoise — already at the chestnut tree.

He ran as fast as he had ever run. It made no difference.

"How?" he panted, catching up at last.

"I didn't stop," said the Tortoise simply.

The Hare sat down and thought about that for a long time.

Slow and steady, it turned out, wins the race.