rength in abundant measure, while his scrupulously clean habits,
the care with which he removed even the slightest trace of a burr from
his sleek, brown coat, and the plentiful supplies of fresh food which he
was able to obtain, naturally preserved him from mange and similar
ailments to which carnivorous animals are always prone. For the present,
indeed, life meant nothing more to him than the sheer enjoyment of
vigorous health, at home by day amid the grateful shadows of the bushes
and the trees, or basking in the sun, and abroad at night in the cold,
clear air of the dewy uplands.

Just as sportsmen occasionally meet with a run of ill-luck, when for
some apparently unaccountable reason they either fail to find game, or
fail to kill it, and, to intensify the annoyance, an accident occurs
that leaves a bitter memory, so Vulp, during one of his long rambles
over the countryside, failed entirely to find sport, and gained a
decidedly unpleasant experience. If only his mother had not taught him
that in a season of scarcity a weasel might reasonably be considered an
article of food! One summer night, as he started on his usual prowl, the
covert seemed strangely silent. With the exception of a solitary rabbit
that bolted to its burrow when the young fox crossed the clearing, and
another that disappeared in similar fashion when nothing more than a
slight crackle of a leaf betrayed Vulp's whereabouts near a
bramble-clump, every animal had apparently deserted the thickets. So,
leaving his accustomed haunts, he crossed the furze-clad dingle, and
watched near a large warren in the open. But there, again, not a rabbit
could be seen. A field-vole rustled by over the leaves; the cub made a
futile effort to capture it, stood for an instant listening to its
movements, then thrust his nose into the herbage in another vigorous but
vain attempt; the vole, like the rabbits, had sought refuge underground.
An owl, that had frightened the cub about five months before when first
he ventured outside his home, rose from the hedge, and flew slowly down
the valley with a little squealing creature in her talons; she, at any
rate, had not hunted in vain.

At last Vulp struck a fresh line of scent which, though particularly
strong and uninviting, he took to be that of a weasel. It was mingled
with the faint odour of a field-vole that, doubtless, had been pursued
and carried away by its persistent enemy. The cub followed the trail,
hoping to secure b