ren. It was a long way to the rabbit swamp, but the hunting was good once he got there and it was very safe hunting.
He was always on the lookout for partridge, but very seldom could he surprise that wary bird.
Often he prowled about the outlying buildings of the farms of the valley. There was always a chance that he might pick up some refuse from the table, which had been flung to the hens and not eaten by those fowls, or perhaps at the farms where the hens ran outside during the day and were shut up at night, a foolish pullet or rooster might be left outside, and be hiding under a sheltering bush. In that case, Mr. Fox took care that there should be no "fuss or feathers" about "the kill." He usually gave one quick sharp bite upon the neck. This silenced the telltale squawking, and it shut off life as well. When the fowl had ceased to struggle, the fox, with a toss of his head, would swing the kill over his shoulder and make for the nearest woods.
When the first snow came Redcoat's diffi-
