With the Fox-Cubs at Dusk 



fort. Tumbled and tossed, frolicked and gambolled, 

 hither and thither. Their antics were the acme of 

 agility and would make the movements of the most 

 playful kittens appear like the solemn actions of 

 rheumatism-ridden old cats. 



The sun had gone down long ago behind the distant 

 hills leaving the fort shrouded in a purpling dusk that 

 was gradually deepening into the shadows of the night. 

 The cubs suddenly ceased their play, listened a moment, 

 sniffed the air and glided away together to the top of 

 the rampart. Like eager children anxiously awaiting the 

 arrival of some relative from a train, they crowded 

 together, all gazing in the one direction. The object 

 of their interest soon became apparent. They were 

 awaiting the arrival of the vixen with their supper. 

 What that supper had been originally I am unable to 

 say, but in the scrimmage that followed on the rim of 

 the darkening rampart, table manners were flung to the 

 wind; and with them floated off a cloud of gleaming 

 black feathers. 



81 



