THE FOX. 91 



said to myself now was the time to win the laurels I 

 had coveted. For half a day previous I had been 

 practicing on a pumpkin which a patient youth had 

 rolled down a hill for me and had improved my shot 

 considerably. Now a yellow pumpkin was coming 

 which was not a pumpkin, and for the first time during 

 the day opportunity favored me. I expected the fox 

 to cross the road a few yards below me but just then 

 I heard him whisk through the grass, and he bounded 

 upon the fence a few yards above. He seemed to 

 cringe as he saw his old enemy, and to depress his 

 fur to half his former dimensions. Three bounds 

 and he had cleared the road, when my bullet tore up 

 the sod beside him, but to this hour I do not know 

 whether I looked at the fox without seeing my gun, 

 or whether I did sight him across its barrel. I only 

 know that I did not distinguish myself in the use of 

 the rifle on that occasion, and went home to wreak 

 my revenge upon another pumpkin. But without 

 much improvement of my skill, for, a few days after, 

 another fox ran under my very nose with perfect 

 impunity. There is something so fascinating in the 

 sudden appearance of the fox, that the eye is quite 

 mastered, and unless the instinct of the sportsman is 

 very strong and quick, the prey will slip through his 

 grasp. 



A still-hunt rarely brings you in sight of a fox, as 

 his ears are much sharper than yours, and his tread 

 much lighter. But if the fox is mousing in the fields, 

 \nl you discover him before he loes you, you may 



