IS IT A LIFE OF FEAR? 



67 



1 



into the east swamp. Soon I noticed that the pack 

 had broken, deploying in every direction, beating 

 the ground over and over. Reynard had given them 

 the slip on the ridge-side, evidently, for there were 

 no cries from below in the swamp. 



Leaving my work at noon, I went down to restake 

 my cow in the meadow. I had just drawn her chain- 

 pin when down the road through the orchard behind 

 me came the fox, hopping high up and down, his 

 neck stretched, his eye peeled for poultry. Spying 

 white hen of my neighbor's, he made for her, clear 

 to the barnyard wall. Then, hopping higher for a 

 better view, he sighted another hen in the front yard, 

 skipped in gayly through the fence, seized her, and 

 loped across the road and away up the birch-grown 

 hills beyond. 



The dogs had been at his very heels ten minutes 

 before. He had fooled them. And no doubt he had 

 done it again and again. They were even now yelp- 

 ing at the end of the baffling trail behind the ridge. 

 Let them yelp. It is a kind and convenient habit of 

 dogs, this yelping, one can tell so exactly where they 

 are. Meantime one can take a turn for one's self at 

 the chase, get a bite of chicken, a drink of water, 

 a wink or two of rest, and when the yelping gets 

 warm again, one is quite ready to pick up one's 

 heels and lead the pack another merry dance. The 

 fox is quite a jolly fellow. 



This is the way the races out of doors are all run 



