THE LIFE OF A FOX. - 17

dark reddish brown; and so it was with my
parents. Our sire never helped ‘to furnish us
with food, although I have reason to think that
I often saw him prowling about with my mother
at night; instances, however, have been known
where the sire has discharged such an office
after the young had lost their mother. For a
few weeks we went on living a rolicking kind of
life, and fancied ourselves masters of the coverts.
There was a coppice of no more than two years
growth, which enabled me to enjoy the beams
of the sun as I lay in my kennel. © This
kind of shelter we all of us choose, especially
when there are no trees of a large growth to
be dripping down upon us in wet weather.
Here as I lay one morning, .early in October,
I was roused from a sound sleep by the noise
of voices, and of dogs rushing towards me.
Away I ran, and had not gone above twenty
yards before I heard the report of a gun, and
instantly received a smart blow on my side, which
nearly knocked me down, breaking however none

of my bones, and causing only a little pain and