"A fox!" cried Russ, in wonder and alarm. "Does a fox live in that
hole?"

"And she's got puppies. We saw 'em playing out here one day. Father is
only waiting for a chance to smoke 'em out. They are terrible. They eat
hens and other poultry."

Russ was vastly interested, as well as troubled by Laddie's fix. For the
smaller boy was really wedged by his rolled-up jacket tight into the
mouth of the culvert. His muffled cries became more imploring, and the
other children really feared that the mother fox, fearing for her
young, might have attacked the boy.

"I tell you he must be got out!" shouted Russ.

"How you going to do it?" Philly demanded. Then she called to Laddie:
"Push in farther, Laddie! Then maybe you can back out all right."

But Laddie Bunker was so much afraid of the foxes by now (he still saw
their luminous eyes before him) that he dared not squirm any deeper into
the pipe. What would have happened to him finally--whether or not the
old fox might not have attacked him--will never be known, for Russ
Bunker took desperate means to release his brother.

Russ ran to a pile of cobblestones beside the road, seized a big one,
and staggered back with it in both hands. With the stone he pounded the
rim of the pipe so hard that it broke in pieces.

"Ow! Ow!" cried the muffled voice of Laddie Bunker. "You are breaking my
legs. Don't pound me so!"