harder and colder as the hours went by, and about midnight a
fine icy snow came ticking down on the dead leaves and hissing
through the brush-heap. It might seem a poor night for hunting, but
that old fox from Springfield was out. He came pointing up the
wind in the shelter of the Swamp and chanced in the lee of the
brush-pile, where he scented the sleeping Cotton-tails. He halted
for a moment, then came stealthily sneaking up toward the brush
under which his nose told him the rabbits were crouching. The
noise of the wind and the sleet enabled him to come quite close
before Molly heard the faint crunch of a dry leaf under his paw.
She touched Rag's whiskers, and both were fully awake just as the
fox sprang on them; but they always slept with their legs ready for
a jump. Molly darted out into the blinding stonn. The fox missed
his spring but followed like a racer, while Rag dashed off to one
side.

There was only one road for Molly; that was straight up the wind,
and bounding for her life she gained a little over the unfrozen mud
that would not carry the fox, till she reached the margin of the
pond. No chance to turn now, on she must go.

Splash! splash! through the weeds she went, then plunge into the
deep water.

And plunge went the fox close behind. But it was too much for
Reynard on such a night. He turned back, and Molly, seeing only
one course, struggled through the reeds into the deep water and
struck out for the other shore. But there was a strong headwind.
The little waves, icy cold, broke over her head as she swam, and
the water was full of snow that blocked her way like soft ice, or