Vixen 143 



Tip, the captive, the weakling of the brood, 

 was now the heir to all her love. The dogs 

 were loosed to guard the hens. The hired man 

 had orders to shoot the old fox on sight — so 

 had I, but was resolved never to see her. 

 Chicken-heads, that a fox loves and a dog will 

 not touch, had been poisoned and scattered 

 through the woods; and the only way to the 

 yard where Tip was tied was by climbing the 

 wood-pile after braving all other dangers. 

 And yet each night old Vix was there to nurse 

 her baby and bring it fresh-killed hens and 

 game. Again and again I saw her, although 

 she came now without awaiting the querulous 

 cry of the captive. 



The second night of the captivity I heard 

 the rattle of the chain, and then made out that 

 the old fox was there, hard at work digging a 

 hole by the little one's kennel. When it was 

 deep enough to half bury her, she gathered into 

 it all the slack of the chain, and filled it again 

 with earth. Then in triumph thinking she had 

 gotten rid of the chain, she seized little Tip by 

 the neck and turned to dash off up the wood- 

 pile, but alas only to have him jerked roughlv 

 from her grasp. 



