80 WINTER SUNSHINE 



and play like puppies in front of the den. The 

 view being unobstructed on all sides by trees oi 

 bushes, in the cover of which danger might ap- 

 proach, they are less liable to surprise and capture. 

 On the slightest sound they disappear in the hole. 

 Those who have watched the gambols of the young 

 foxes speak of them as very amusing, even more 

 arch and playful than those of kittens, while a spirit 

 profoundly wise and cunning seems to look out of 

 their young eyes. The parent fox can never be 

 caught in the den with them, but is hovering near 

 the woods, which are always at hand, and by her 

 warning cry or bark telling them when to be on 

 their guard. She usually has at least three dens, 

 at no great distance apart, and moves stealthily in 

 the night with her charge from one to the other, so 

 as to mislead her snemies. Many a party of boys, 

 and of men, too, discovering the whereabouts of a 

 litter, have gone with shovels and picks, and, after 

 digging away vigorously for several hours, have 

 found only an empty hole for their pains. The old 

 fox, finding her secret had been found out, had 

 waited for darkness, in the cover of which to trans- 

 fer her household to new quarters ; or else some old 

 fox-hunter, jealous of the preservation of his game, 

 and getting word of the intended destruction of the 

 litter, had gone at dusk the night before, and made 

 some disturbance about the den, perhaps flashed 

 some powder in its mouth, — a hint which the 

 shrewd animal knew how to interpret. 



The more scientific aspects of the question may 



