"Yes, of course, but I should hate to disappoint you. Now, do you know
where rabbits go when they die?"

"Yes, in my stomach."

Mr. Fox laughed long and loud at this cruel joke, and Bumper winced; but
he was playing for time to think of a plan to escape. Evidently Mr. Fox
was not to be outwitted by flattery, and he determined upon another ruse.

There was a fallen tree near him, but to reach it he would have to advance
a few feet straight toward the fox. The heart of the tree was rotten and
hollow, and to escape in this was Bumper's design. But how to distract Mr.
Fox's attention until he could reach it was the question.

"Oh, Mr. Fox," he said suddenly, "I met Mr. Crow on the river, and he
asked me about the white crows in the city. When I told him, he flew away
to the city to see if living there would turn him white. That's a joke on
Mr. Crow all right, isn't it?"

"Yes--but are there white crows in the city?"

"There are white rabbits. Then why not white crows, and white foxes?"

"White foxes?"

"Yes, why not? Didn't you ever see one?"

"No, but I've heard of them, it seems to me, but they live way up north,
don't they?"