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THE FOX 



It has been many a long day since I heard a 

 fox bark, but in my youth among the Catskills I 

 often heard the sound, especially of a still moon- 

 light night in midwinter. Perhaps it was more 

 a cry than a bark, not continuous like the baying 

 of a dog, but uttered at intervals. One feels that 

 the creature is trying to bark, but has not yet 

 learned the trick of it. But it is a wild, weird 

 sound. I would get up any night to hear it again. 

 I used to listen for it when a boy, standing in 

 front of my father's house. Presently I would 

 hear one away up on the shoulder of the mountain, 

 and I imagined I could almost see him sitting 

 there in his furs upon the illuminated surface 

 and looking down in my direction. As I listened, 

 maybe one would answer him from behind the 

 woods in the valley, a fitting sound amid the 

 ghostly winter hills. 



The red fox was the only species that abounded 

 in this locahty. On my way to school in the 

 morning, after a fresh fall of snow, I would see 



