10 THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



doubling, turning, no one knows how many times, 

 comes down at last along the trout brook to the 

 street in front of my house, where, leaping the 

 brook and crossing the street, it runs beside my 

 foot-path, up the hill, to the mowing-field behind 

 the barn. 



When I say that last fall the hunters, standing 

 near the brook where this wild-animal road and the 

 wagon road cross, shot seven foxes, you will be quite 

 ready to believe that this is a much-traveled road, 

 this road of the foxes that cuts across my mowing- 

 field ; and also that I am quite likely to see the trav- 

 elers, now and then, as they pass by. 



So I am, especially in the autumn, when game 

 grows scarce; when the keen frosty air sharpens 

 the foxes' appetites, and the dogs, turned loose in the 

 woods, send the creatures far and wide for — chick- 

 ens ! 



For chickens ? If you have chickens, I hope your 

 chicken-coop does not stand along the side of a fox 

 road, as mine does. For straight across the mowing- 

 field runs this road of the foxes, then in a complete 

 circle right round the chicken yard, and up the 

 bushy ridge into the wood. 



How very convenient! Very, indeed ! And how 

 thoughtful of me ! Very thoughtful ! The foxes 

 appreciate my kindness; and they make a point of 

 stopping at the hen-yard every time they pass this 

 way. 



