Do le' 's go back!" we little vandals cried,--
"Le' 's go back, quick, and find the little things--
_Please_, father!--Yes, and take 'em home for pets--
'Cause 'Ring' he'll kill the old fox anyway!"
So father turned at last, and back we went,
And father chopped a hole in the old tree
About ten feet below the limb from which
The old fox ran, and--Bless their little lives!--
There, in the hollow of the old tree-trunk--
There, on a bed of warm dry leaves and moss--
There, snug as any bug in any rug--
We found--one--two--three--four, and, yes-sir, _five_
Wee, weenty-teenty baby-foxes, with
Their eyes just barely opened--_Cute_?--my-oh!--
_The_ cutest--the most cunning little things
Two boys ever saw, in all their lives!
"Raw weather for the little fellows _now_!"
Said father, as though talking to himself,--
"Raw weather, and no home _now_!"--And off came
His warm old "waumus"; and in that he wrapped
The helpless little animals, and held
Them soft and warm against him as he could,--
And home we happy children followed him.--
_Old "Ring"_ did not reach home till nearly dusk:
The mother-fox had led him a long chase--

"Yes, and a fool's chase, too!" he seemed to say,
And looked ashamed to hear us _praising_ him.
But, _mother_--well, we _could not_ understand
_Her_ acting as she did--and we so _pleased_!