curiously. I could have touched him with my 

 fork. Then he sat down with just his silver- 

 tipped brush in the silver moonlight, to study 

 me in earnest. 



The loud baying of the hounds was coming 

 nearer. How often I had heard it, and, in spite 

 of my lost chickens, how often I had exclaimed, 

 "Poor little tired fox ! " But here sat "poor 

 little tired fox" with his tongue in his head, 

 calmly wondering what kind of stump he had 

 run up against this time. 



I could only dimly see his eyes, but his whole 

 body said : "I can't make it out, for it does n't 

 move. But so long as it does n't move I sha'n't 

 be scared." Then he trotted to this side and to 

 that for a better wind, somewhat afraid, but 

 much more curious. 



His time was up, however. The dogs were 

 yelping across the meadow on his warm trail. 

 Giving me a last unsatisfied look, he dropped 

 down the path, directly toward the dogs, and 

 sprang lightly off into the thicket. 



The din of their own voices must have deaf- 

 ened the dogs, or they would have heard him. 

 Round and round they circled, giving the fox 

 [38] 



