Tommy Fox sat down to think. As I have said, he was hungry. And there
is nothing that sharpens a fox's wits like hunger. He looked very
innocent, as he rested under a big chestnut tree, and gazed up at a
gray squirrel which was perched on a limb over his head.

"Run along, Tommy Fox," the squirrel said to him.--"There's no use of
your staying here. I shan't come down until you're gone."

Tommy didn't say anything. He just whined a few times, and held his
paw against his stomach. And he gave one or two groans.

The gray squirrel came a little further down the tree and looked at
Tommy again. He wondered if Tommy was ill. And then, when Tommy
stretched himself out on the ground and lay quite still the gray
squirrel was sure that Tommy Fox had eaten something that hurt him.

"What is it?" the squirrel inquired.

Tommy looked up and murmured something. The squirrel couldn't hear
what he said, but he thought he caught the word _poison_. And he
decided that Tommy had probably devoured a poisoned chicken-head which
Farmer Green had thrown out for him.

I am afraid that the squirrel didn't feel very sorry. He didn't like
Tommy Fox, for Tommy was always trying to catch him. But if he wasn't
sorry, he was curious. And he sat up on a low branch and looked at
Tommy for a long time.

Tommy Fox never moved again. His eyes were shut; his beautiful red