hildren to save their lives" when a thunderstorm comes on, or
visitors are alarming. Most fox farms are therefore in the depths of
the woods: and the path to them is kept a dark secret by the owners.
But the farmers at St. Anthony's were green to the business, and they
let the fishermen come in numbers to see the show, not realizing what
the consequences would be. The red and the cross foxes seemed pleased
to entertain guests; not so with the white foxes, and the precious
silver foxes were the shyest of all. Not a pup lived to grow up. Many
were born, but their parents killed them all. By and by, after a
mortal plague broke out among the animals, the farm was converted
into a garden with a glass frame for seeding vegetables.

But others, with more science at their command, developed a profitable
industry in Quebec, Labrador and in Prince Edward Island. In the year
the war began a silver vixen and her brood were sold for ten thousand
dollars. A wild fox, sold for twenty-five dollars, was resold for a
thousand. There is money in the business, properly conducted. For
those who want wild animals to have fair play, there is satisfaction
in the thought that to get fox fur by way of breeding is infinitely
more humane than to get it by way of the trap, whose cruel teeth may
hold the animals through hours and days of suffering till the hunter
comes.

V

SOME REAL SEA-DOGS

"Get out o' there, youse!"

A big raw-boned fisherman with an oar in his hand came running up the
stony beach at Hopedale.

The door of the little Moravian church was open. So were the windows.
And so were the mouths of a pack of dogs who were yowling their heads
off and trying to kill each other inside the church.

"That's just the way with them huskies!" panted Long Jim, as he
stumbled up the slope. "Can't leave 'em be ten minutes without their
gettin' into mischief. 'Tis a nice place they picked out for a fight
this time! I'll soon have 'em out o' there! They'll find out the house
o' God ain't no dog-house."

Swinging his oar right and left he dashed into the church.

Such a scene as met his eyes!

The dogs had been tearing the hymn-books apart as if they were slabs
of raw seal-meat. For the Eskimos had been handling the books with
their fingers fresh from cleaning fish and cutting up blubber. So that
to a dog's nose each book smelt and tasted perfectly delicious. As
fast as one dog closed his hungry jaws on a book, another dog,
snarli