ALONG THE HIGHWAY OF THE FOX 19 



; and every jump forward is like a plunge overboard. 

 His red coat is longer than the short, close hair of 

 the hound, and his big brush of a tail, heavy with j 

 water, must be a dragging weight over the long 

 c l f'-. hard course of the hunt. If wet fur to him means 

 the same as wet clothes to us, then the narrow es- 

 cape I witnessed a short time ago is easily explained. 

 It happened in this way : 



*. I was out in the road by the brook when I caught 



the cry of the pack ; and, hurrying up the hill to 



$ the " cut," I climbed the gravel bank for a view 



.j$ down the road each way, not knowing along which 



side of the brook the chase was coming, nor where 



the fox would cross. 



Not since the Flood had there been a wetter 



? morning. The air could not stir without spilling ; the 



leaves hung weighted with the wet ; the very cries 



v \ . of the hounds sounded thick and choking, as the 



V '> pack floundered through the alder swamp that lay 



'"? at the foot of the hill where I was waiting. 



There must be four or five dogs in the pack, I 

 thought ; and surely now they are driving down the 

 i old runway that crosses the brook at my meadow. 



I kept my eye upon the bend in the brook and 

 just beyond the big swamp maple, when there in 

 : the open road stood the fox. 



vl He did not stand ; he only seemed to, so suddenly 

 " and unannounced had he arrived. Not an instant had 

 he to spare. The dogs were smashing through the 



--' -' "-,y.v.- 



