Redrujff 35 



hears of the cunning of the fox. Wait and see 

 what a fool he is compared with a mother-par- 

 tridge. Elated at the prize so suddenly within 

 his reach, the fox turned with a dash and caught 

 — at least, no, he didn't quite catch the bird; 

 she flopped by chance just a foot out of reach. 

 He followed with another jump and would 

 have seized her this time surely, but somehow 

 a sapling came just between, and the partridge 

 dragged herself awkwardly away and under a 

 log, but the great brute snapped his jaws and 

 bounded over the log, while she, seeming a 

 trifle less lame, made another clumsy forward 

 spring and tumbled down a bank, and Reynard, 

 keenly following, almost caught her tail, but, 

 oddly enough, fast as he went and leaped, she 

 still seemed just a trifle faster. It was most ex- 

 traordinary. A winged partridge and he, Rey- 

 nard, the Swift-foot, had not caught her in five 

 minutes* racing. It was really shameful. But 

 the partridge seemed to gain strength as the fox 

 put forth his, and after a quarter of a mile race, 

 racing that was somehow all away from Tay- 

 lor's Hill, the bird got unaccountably quite 

 well, and, rising with a decisive whirr, flew off 

 through the woods, leaving the fox utterly dum- 

 founded to realize that he had been made a fool 

 of, and, worst of all, he now remembered that 



