murmured doubtfully to himself.

But that was not it. For first Peter cut small branches into slender
poles about three or four feet long, until he had quite a bundle of
them. These he pushed into the burrow until it was completely though
loosely filled for some four feet from its mouth. Next he took one of
the flat discs of wood, and fitted it carefully into the opening, using
earth to wedge it firmly, and finally blocking it with a big stone.
This process, which mystified Dick entirely, he repeated at a second
hole that he said was the other exit from the burrow. Then he rested
from his labours with a satisfied air.

"And what about the fox?" demanded Dick.

Whereupon Peter Many-Names unbent sufficiently to enter into a long and
curiously worded explanation, the gist of which was as follows:--

When the fox found the narrow entrance of his burrow blocked with the
little poles, he would at once set cleverly to work to pull and kick
and scratch them away, which he could easily do. But in so doing he
built a barrier in the burrow behind him as he worked, and by the time
he had pushed them all back, he faced the immovable plug of wood, and
was penned into a section of the tunnel of little more than his own
length. He could neither move backwards nor forwards, and so fell an
easy victim when the plug was removed. As Peter pointed out, his
industry was his own undoing.

Dick scarcely knew whether to admire or laugh at the quaint stratagem.
But the fact remained that their work for that day was done, and done
without his help or advice. He supposed there was nothing to do but go
back to the homestead, and his face showed how little he relished the
idea.

The Indian watched him with keen eyes, seeming to read his thoughts.
At last he spoke, quietly and indifferently, as was his wont.

"Why you not stay with me this to-day?" he said, not even looking at
Dick.

A sparkle sprang into the boy's eyes. To have one more day of lazy
freedom! One more day of the wood-running in which his soul delighted!
One more day with no will but his own to follow, with no cares, no
work, no restraint! One more day of the deep silent undergrowth and
the stately uplands, of the clear chill skies and the keen cold wind!
One more day of the wilderness that was dearer and fairer to him than
the farm and the fruitful fields! To wander for one more day, with no
master but his own pleasure, no one calling to sterner labour; and only