, 





ALONG THE HIGHWAY OF THE FOX 11 



It is interesting to know, too, that they pass this 

 way almost every night, and almost every afternoon, 

 and at almost every other odd time, so that the hens, 

 with hundreds of grubby acres to scratch in, have 

 to be fenced within a bare narrow yard, where they 

 can only be seen by the passing foxes. 



Even while being driven by the dogs, when nat- 

 urally they are in something of a hurry, the foxes 

 will manage to get far enough ahead of the hounds 

 to come by this way and saunter leisurely around the 

 -' coop. 



I have a double-barreled gun and four small boys ; 

 but terrible as that combination sounds, it fails 

 somehow with the foxes. It is a two-barreled-four- 

 boyed kind of a joke to them. They think that I am 

 fooling when I blaze away with both barrels at them. 

 But I am not. Every cartridge is loaded with BB 

 shot. But that only means Blank-Blank to them, in 

 spite of all I can do. The way they jump when the gun 

 goes off, then stop and look at me, is very irritating. 



This last spring I fired twice at a fox, who jumped 

 as if I had hit him (I must have hit him), then turned 

 himself around and looked all over the end of the 

 barn to see where the shots were coming from. They 

 were coming from the back barn window, as he saw 

 when I yelled at him. 



It was an April morning, cold and foggy, so cold 

 and foggy and so very early that my chattering 

 1 teeth, I think, disturbed my aim. 



