22 THE LIFE OF A FOX 



stopped with the remark, " It's a vixen ; there is no 

 white on her brush." I have since observed tliat 

 old male foxes are of a much Hghter colour on the 

 back than are the old female ones, which are 

 commonly of a dark reddish brown ; and so it was 

 with my parents. Our sire never helped to furnish 

 us with food, although I have reason to think that 

 I often saw him prowhng about with my mother at 

 night ; instances, however, have been known where 

 the sire has discharged such an office after the 

 young had lost their mother. For a few weeks we 

 went on living a roUicking kind of hfe, and fancied 

 ourselves masters of the coverts. 



There was a coppice of no more than two years' 

 gi'owth, which enabled me to enjoy the beams of 

 the sun as I lay in my kennel. This kind of shelter 

 we all of us choose, especially when there are no 

 trees of a large growth to be dripping do^\ai upon 

 us in wet weather. Here as I lay one morning, 

 early in October, I was roused from a sound sleep 

 by the noise of voices, and of dogs rushing towards 

 me. Away I ran, and had not gone above twenty 

 yards before I heard the report of a gun, and instantly 

 received a smart blow on my side, which nearly 

 knocked me down, breaking however none of my 

 bones, and causing only a little pain and loss of blood. 



