LITTLE FOXES 147 



undoubtedly the staple food of our hill-foxes. But 

 they are almost always ready for a change from it, 

 and our own vixen seems to have sworn to bring up 

 her family entirely on fowls. If she fails to get any- 

 thing better in a night's hunting she probably comes 

 down to rabbit. One writer has said that in the early 

 morning, when the fox is returning from what may be 

 an unsuccessful hunt, the rabbits reverse their usual 

 behaviour by giving her the widest of possible berths. 

 Even if she has done well during the night, she is at 

 this time overwhelmed with a sense of the length of 

 the following day, and stocks her larder, if she can 

 easily do so, as if for a week's siege. 



We did not see our little foxes till they were six 

 weeks old. The quiet of a June evening was on the 

 field ; the sun had scarcely dipped below the horizon, 

 and was flooding half the sky with the picture of a 

 crimson shore veined with pale green pools. We saw 

 but the purple-golden glow of it, cut into filigree by 

 the gaps in the foliage of a small ash grove, before we 

 turned from it to watch the little mound beneath the 

 rocks where our foxes were to play. The long arches 

 of a bramble were dotted with pink rose-buds among 

 its festoon of fresh summer leafage, and the deep 

 mowing-grass was full of campion, buttercup, purple 

 vetch, and sweet-smelling orchis. We were not too 

 near our foxes' den, for a strong pair of field-glasses 

 would bring it near enough for us to watch closely 

 without too much necessity for keeping still. A big 

 white moth came lumbering along the grass tops, and 

 we turned the eyes to watch its course up the hill. 

 While we looked the night-jar began its churr on the 

 lower note, and, before it changed to the higher, our 



