How Animals Talk 



matter of mere chance ; but it happens again and 

 again, and always in the same challenging way. 

 The eager cub suddenly checks himself, turns as 

 if he had heard a command, catches the vixen's 

 look, and back he comes like a trained dog to the 

 whistle. 



As the shadows lengthen on the hillside, and the 

 evening comes when the mother must go mousing 

 in the distant meadow, she rises quietly to her feet. 

 Instantly the play stops; the cubs gather close, 

 their heads all upturned to the greater head that 

 bends to them, and there they stand in mute intent- 

 ness, as if the mother were speaking and the cubs 

 listening. For a brief interval that tense scene 

 endures, exquisitely impressive, while you strain 

 your senses to catch its meaning. There is no 

 sound, no warning of any kind that ears can hear. 

 Then the cubs scamper quickly into the burrow; 

 the mother, without once looking back, slips away 

 into the shadowy twilight. At the den's mouth a 

 foxy little face appears, its nostrils twitching, its 

 eyes following a moving shadow in the distance. 

 When the shadow is swallowed up in the dusk the 

 face draws back, and the wild hillside is wholly 

 silent and deserted. 



You can go home now. The vixen may be hours 

 on her hunting, but not a cub will again show 

 his nose until she returns and calls him. If a 



[92] 



