54 NEIGHBORS WITH CLA WS AND HOOFS, 



COYOTE. 



1. Blown out of the prairie in twilight and dew,* 

 Half bold and half timid, yet lazy all through ; 

 Loath even to leave, and yet fearful to stay, 

 He limps in the clearing, an outcast in gray. 



2. A shade on the stubble, a ghost on the wall, 

 Now leaping, now limping, now risking a fall, 

 Lop-eared, and large- join ted, but ever alway 

 A thoroughly vagabond outcast in gray. 



3. Here, Carlo, old fellow lie's one of your kind 

 Go, seek him, and bring him in out of the wind. 

 What ! snarling, my Carlo ? So even dogs may 

 Deny their own kin in the outcast in gray. 



4. Well, take what you will though it be on the sly r 

 Marauding or begging I shall not ask why ; 

 But will call it a dole, just to help on his way 



A four-footed friar in orders of gray ! 



Bret Harte. 



CHAPTER IX. 



SLY-BOOTS. 



1. THE shower is passing, the woods are shaking the 

 warm rain-drops from their summits, and from the heath 

 a refreshing and spicy fragrance rises through the evening 

 air. In every retreat feet and wings are on the move. 

 The gnats begin their dance, the ants creep forth to repair 

 their flooded highway, the chaffinch is warbling from the 

 top of the beech-tree, the hare is at her play, and the Fox 

 begins to feel his nature stir within him. 



