By the time summer was nearly over, Tommy Fox was much bigger than he
had been in the spring. So many things had happened, and he had
learned so much, that he began to be quite bold. And he had grown so
saucy that his mother often had to scold him. Tommy had fallen into
the bad habit of going about calling all the forest-people names; and
in that way he had gained for himself the ill-will of all the
creatures who lived near the foot of Blue Mountain. It interfered with
his hunting, because whenever he started out to get something to eat,
as soon as they saw him the forest-people told one another that he was
coming. Old Mr. Crow especially was the worst of all. He was forever
calling "Stop, thief!" after Tommy Fox; and then he would haw-haw in a
manner that was frightfully annoying. In fact, he made matters so
unpleasant that after a time Tommy began to roam far down the valley,
along Swift River, where he tried to catch fish. The fish, at least,
couldn't call him names, and there was some satisfaction in that fact,
even if he hadn't much luck as a fisherman.

And just for excitement Tommy began to worry Farmer Green's Spot. He
delighted in barking at Spot. And Spot would always stop what he was
doing and rush pell-mell after Tommy Fox.

Then Tommy would skip away with a laugh. First he always ran for the
river, and jumped from one stone to another, and waded where the water
was shallow.

Then he would dash off through the meadows, leaving so crooked a trail
behind him that when Spot at last found the place where Tommy had left
the river, he never could follow him very far.