1 8 IV ays of Wood Folk. 



autumn, and hides on the edge of the open, he stands 

 a good chance of seeing two or three foxes playing 

 there. Only he must himself be still as the night; 

 else, should twenty foxes come that way, he will 

 never see one. 



It is always a pretty scene, the quiet opening in 

 the woods flecked with soft gray shadows in the 

 moonlight, the dark sentinel evergreens keeping 

 silent watch about the place, the wild little creatures 

 playing about among the junipers, flitting through 

 light and shadow, jumping over each other and tum- 

 bling about in mimic warfare, all unconscious of a 

 spectator as the foxes that played there before the 

 white man came, and before the Indians. Such 

 scenes do not crowd themselves upon one. He must 

 wait long, and love the woods, and be often disap- 

 pointed ; but when they come at last, they are worth 

 all the love and the watching. And when the foxes 

 are not there, there is always something else that is 

 beautiful. — 



"Now squeak like a mouse, in the midst of the play. 

 Instantly the fox nearest you stands, with one foot up, 

 listening. Another scjueak, and he makes three or 

 four swift bounds in your direction, only to stand 

 listening again; he hasn't quite located you. Care- 

 ful now ! don't hurry ; the longer you keep him wait- 

 ing, the more certainly he is deceived. Another 



