A HERMIT'S WILD FRIENDS 



Triplefoot's life was one of worry and care, 

 to say nothing about the danger from man- 

 kind and the hounds. She had to find food 

 for her hungry cubs, and whichever way she 

 turned, danger lurked on her trail. If she 

 hunted for wood-mice, the hounds were there 

 to pick up her trail. Then she had to seek 

 water to throw them off. It would not do 

 to go to the den, where the hounds would soon 

 dig out her little cubs, and shake the life from 

 their tender bodies. If she turned to some 

 poultry-yard, the chances were that she would 

 find herself looking into the muzzle of the 

 farmer's shotgun. She was desperately wild, 

 and so were the little cubs when she was with 

 them. A warning note from the mother 

 worked like magic. The little ones would 

 crouch and creep to the mouth of the den, 

 and disappear as silently as three ghosts. 



I saw Triplefoot return to the den one 

 Sunday morning, empty-handed. The cubs 

 came out and whined pitifully when they 

 missed the Sunday breakfast. The old fox 

 ordered them into the den, and then took the 

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