and capers. The playground may easily be found by
following the tracks after the first snowfall. (The knowledge will not
profit you probably till next season; but it is worth finding and
remembering.) If one goes to the place on some still, bright night in
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 tumbling 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 disappointed; 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 squeak, and
he makes three or four swift bounds in your direction, only to stand
listening again; he hasn't quite located you. Careful now! don't
hurry; the longer you keep him waiting, the more certainly he is
deceived. Another squeak; some more swift jumps that bring him
within ten feet; and now he smells or sees you, sitting motionless on
your boulder in the shadow of the pines.

[Illustration]

He isn't surprised; at least he pretends he isn't; but looks you over
indifferently, as if he were used to finding people sitting on that
particular rock. Then he trots off with an air of having forgotten
something. With all his cunning he never suspects you of being the
mouse. That little creature he believes to be hiding under the rock;
and to-morrow night he will very likely take a look there, or respond
to your squeak in the same way.

It is only early in the season, generally before the snow blows, that
one can see them playing; and it is probably the young foxes that are
so eager for this kind of fun. Later in the season--either because the
cubs have lost their playfulness, or because they must hunt so
diligently for