hese and crowded them apart. Sleepily they protested and moved
along a little. Granny continued to crowd them. At last one of them
stretched out her head to see who was crowding so. Like a flash Granny
seized that head, and biddy never knew what had wakened her, nor did she
have a chance to waken the others.

Dropping this hen at Reddy's feet, Granny crowded another until she did
the same thing, and just the same thing happened once more. Then Granny
jumped lightly down, picked up one of the hens by the neck, slung the
body over her shoulder, and told Reddy to do the same with the other and
start for home.

"Aren't you going to get any more while we have the chance?" grumbled
Reddy.

"Enough is enough," retorted Granny. "We've got a dinner for two, and
so far no one is any the wiser. Perhaps these two won't be missed, and
we'll have a chance to get some more another night. Now come on."

This was plain common sense, and Reddy knew it, so without another word
he followed old Granny Fox out by the way they had entered, and then
home to the best dinner he had had for a long long time.

CHAPTER XXVI: Farmer Brown's Boy Sets A Trap

The trouble is that troubles are,
More frequently than not,
Brought on by naught but carelessness;
By some one who forgot.
--Old Granny Fox.

Granny Fox had hoped that those two hens she and Reddy had stolen from
Farmer Brown's henhouse would not be missed, but they were. They were
missed the very first thing the next morning when Farmer Brown's boy
went to feed the biddies. He discovered right away that the little
sliding door which should have closed the opening through which the hens
went in and out of the house was open, and then he remembered that
he had left the henyard gate open the night before. Carefully Farmer
Brown's boy examined the hole with the sliding door.

"Ha!" said he presently, and held up two red hairs which he had found on
the edge of the door. "Ha! I thought as much. I was careless last night
and didn't fasten this door, and I left the gate open. Reddy Fox has
been here, and now I know what has become of those two hens. I suppose
it serves me right for my carelessness, and I suppose if the truth were
known, those hens were of more real good to him than they ever could
have been to me, because the poor fellow must be having pretty hard work
to get a living these hard winter days. Still, I can't have him stealing
any more. That would never do a