12 THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



It must have been about four o'clock when one of 

 the small boys tiptoed into my room and whispered, 

 "Father, quick ! there's a fox digging under Pigeon 

 Henny's coop behind the barn." 



I was up in a second, and into the boys' room. 

 Sure enough, there in the fog of the dim morning I 

 could make out the moving form of a fox. He was 

 digging under the wire runway of the coop. 



The old hen was clucking in terror to her chicks. 

 It was she who had awakened the boys. 



There was no time to lose. Downstairs I went, 

 down into the basement, where I seized the gun, and, 

 slipping in a couple of shells, slid out of the cellar 

 door and crept stealthily into the barn. 



The back window was open. The thick wet fog 

 poured in like dense smoke. I moved swiftly in my 

 bare feet and peered down upon the field. There 

 stood the blur of the coop, a dark shadow only in 

 the fog, but where was the fox? 



Pushing the muzzle of my double-barreled gun 

 across the window-sill, I waited. And there in the 

 mist stood the fox, reaching in with his paw under 

 the wire that inclosed the coop. 



Carefully, deliberately, I swung the gun on the 

 window-sill until the bead drew dead upon the thief ; 

 then, fixing myself as firmly as I could with bare 

 feet, I made sure of my mark and fired. 



I do not wonder that the fox jumped. I jumped, 

 myself, as both barrels went off together. A gun is 



