1 



66 THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



taken off the trail, soon sauntered up through the 

 mowing-field behind the barn, came out upon the 

 bare knoll near the house, and sat there in the moon- 

 light yapping down at Rex and Dewey, the house- 

 dogs in the two farms below. Rex is a Scotch collie, 

 Dewey a dreadful mix of dog-dregs. He had been 

 tail-ender in the pack for a while during the after- 

 noon. Both dogs an- 

 swered back at the 

 young fox. But he 

 could not egg them 

 on. Rex was too 

 fat, Dewey had 

 had enough ; 

 not so the 



youngfox. - 



It had been fun. 



He wanted more. ;> 



"Come on, Dewey!" 



he cried. " Come on, Rex, play tag again ! You 're 



still 'it.'" 



I was at work with my chickens one spring day 

 when the fox broke from cover in the tall woods, 

 struck the old wagon-road along the ridge, and came 

 at a gallop down behind the hen-coops, with five 

 hounds not a minute behind. They passed with a 

 crash and were gone up over the ridge and down 



