Roughleg the Hawk, and if Roughleg did happen along, all he had to
do was to dive and come up far away to laugh and make fun of Roughleg.
The water couldn't get through his oily feathers, and so he didn't
mind how cold it was.

Now in his home in the Far North there were so many dangers that
Quacker had early learned to be always on the watch and to take the
best of care of himself. On his way down to the Big River he had been
hunted by men with terrible guns, and he had learned all about them.
In fact, he felt quite able to keep out of harm's way. He rather
prided himself that there was no one smart enough to catch him.

I suspect he thought he knew all there was to know. In this respect he
was a good deal like Reddy Fox himself. That was because he was young.
It is the way with young Ducks and Foxes and with some other youngsters
I know.

When Quacker first saw Granny Fox on the little beach, he flirted his
absurd little tail and smiled as he thought how she must wish she
could catch him. But so far as he could see, Granny didn't once look
at him.

"She doesn't know I'm out here at all," thought Quacker.
Then suddenly he sat up very straight and looked with all his might.
What under the sun was the matter with that Fox? She was acting as
if she had suddenly lost her senses.

Over and over she rolled. Around and around she spun. She turned
somersaults. She lay on her back and kicked her heels in the air.
Never in his life had he known any one to act like that. There must