THE FOX 69 



noddles that there was danger about, and every 

 night thereafter came close up to the house to 

 roost. 



A brood of turkeys, the old one tied to a tree a 

 few rods to the rear of the house, were the next 

 objects of attack. The predaceous rascal came, as 

 usual, in the latter half of the night. I happened 

 to be awake, and heard the helpless turkey cry 

 "Quit," "quit," with great emphasis. Another 

 sleeper, on the floor above me, who, it see|ps, had 

 been sleeping with one ear awake for several nights 

 in apprehension for the safety of his turkeys, heard 

 the sound also, and instantly divined its cause. I 

 heard the window open and a voice summon the 

 dogs. A loud bellow was the response, which 

 caused Keynard to take himself off in a hurry. A 

 moment more, and the mother turkey would have 

 shared the fate of the geese. There she lay at the 

 end of her tether, with extended wings, bitten and 

 rumpled. The young ones roosted in a row on the 

 fence near by, and had taken flight on the first 

 alarm. 



Turkeys, retaining many of their wild instincts, 

 are less easily captured by the fox than any other 

 of our domestic fowls. On the slightest show of 

 danger they take to whig, and it is not unusual, in 

 the locality of which I speak, to find them in the 

 morning perched in the most unwonted places, as on 

 the peak of the barn or hay-shed, or on the tops of 

 the apple-trees, their tails spread and their manners 

 showing much excitement. Perchance one turkey 



