The Springfield Fox 



nocent expressions, and yet a second glance 

 at their broad, sharp-nosed, sharp-eyed visages 

 showed that each of these innocents was the 

 makings of a crafty old fox. 



They played about, basking in the sun, or 

 wrestling with each other till a slight sound 

 made them skurry under ground. But their 

 alarm was needless, for the cause of it was their 

 mother; she stepped from the bushes bringing 

 another hen — number seventeen as I remember. 

 A low call from her and the little fellows came 

 tumbling out. Then began a scene that I 

 thought charming, but which my uncle would 

 not have enjoyed at all. 



They rushed on the hen, and tussled and 

 fought with it, and each other, while the mother, 

 keeping a sharp eye for enemies, looked on with 

 fond delight. The expression on her face was 

 remarkable. It was first a grinning of delight, 

 but her usual look of wildness and cunning was 

 there, nor were cruelty and nervousness lacking, 

 but over all was the unmistakable look of the 

 mother's pride and love. 



The base of my tree was hidden in bushes 

 and much lower than the knoll where the den 



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