LITTLE FOXES 149 



tendency to break bounds and go off exploring on his 

 own account ; the only one that has the temerity some- 

 times to treat his mother as a playfellow, and whom 

 we have seen corrected not once but several times ; 

 the fat one that spends a good deal of his playtime in 

 digging up bits of food that the vixen had buried for 

 to-morrow's meal. Once we met two of them out for 

 a run with the vixen nearly half a mile from home. 

 They were the big brother and the explorer. We 

 have reason to believe that the latter got into trouble 

 when he reached home for not having kept close enough 

 when they all ran from the two-legged monster. 



Little foxes, we cannot make out why we put up 

 with your presence on the farm. We have better 

 cause than the rabbits for objecting to your company. 

 Ever since your birth the mortality of the poultry-yard 

 has been progressively pursuing the birth-rate. There 

 is a score of seventeen grown fowls, and chickens of 

 which count has been lost, against the gambols with 

 which you tear them to pieces on the mound beneath 

 the hill. There is no bill to be handed to the hunt 

 committee. We do not recognise that our little foxes 

 belong to them, nor do we long to see the pack stream- 

 ing after your tell-tale scent. The bill, little foxes, is 

 yours, and heaven knows why it should have been 

 allowed to run so long. 



