FROM FOX'S EARTH 

 TO MOUNTAIN TARN 



i 



LOWLAND AND HILL FOX 



WITH a very troubled face, the game- 

 keeper came in to report a tragedy of 

 the previous night. The pheasantry 

 had been entered, and seventeen 

 birds taken or killed. By a diabolic ingenuity 

 the depredator had managed to get over, or 

 through, the wire-netting fence. A great deal 

 of noise was made about the loss. Blame was 

 scattered indiscriminately. There was but one 

 oversight. The chief offender was overlooked. 

 He was a chartered raider. 



My host asked me if I cared for a walk. A 

 young hound, blotched black and brown, loosely 

 put together as growing lad, mainly feet and 

 head, sprawled along the moist path. Awkward 

 and good-natured, it insisted on following us to 

 the edge of the lawn, where a gap in the hedge 

 let us through, on to the grass. It was being 



