Old Danny Fox, with his two small sons,
Stood just outside his den;
The snow was nearly two feet deep
In the Shady Forest Glen.
But they didn’t care, they had such fun
Making a snowman with a gun,--
A great big stick they had found close by,--
That pointed right up to the cold blue sky.
Yes, sir! Danny Fox was very kind to Bushytail and Slyboots, and
although the Little People of the Sunny Meadow and the Shady Forest
didn’t like him, Mrs. Fox and her two little cubs did. Oh my, yes!
Almost every day he brought home something nice to eat; sometimes a
nice fat pullet from the farmyard; sometimes a tender rabbit.
“I saw Little Jack Rabbit last night, my dear,” said the crafty old fox
to his wife as he pushed a piece of coal in the snowman’s round face
for an eye. “But I couldn’t get near enough to catch him. My, but he’s
a wise little bunny,” and Danny Fox began to whistle:
“If you want to catch a rabbit
You must have a crafty habit,
For he’s timid, very timid,
And keeps a bright lookout;
So if you want to catch him
You must never, never shout.”
Pretty soon he remarked that he must make a call over at the farm, and
winking at Mrs. Fox, he ran off. After a while he reached the Big Red
Barn where the Weathercock turned around every time Mr. North Wind
whistled.
“Now, let me think,” said Danny Fox to himself. “All the chickens are
safe in the Henhouse; how am I to get in?”
Just then Mr. Longtooth Rat looked out of the barn. Maybe he had heard
Danny Fox whispering to himself.
“There’s a loose board on the back of the Henhouse. Why don’t you pull
it off?” And then that bad old rat grinned, for he didn’t care whether
the poor chickens were eaten by that old fox. In fact, if they were,
there’d be more corn for him. Wasn’t that selfish? Well, I just guess
it was, but there are lots of selfish people in this old world, and
that’s the reason every little boy and girl should learn to always save
a piece of candy for mother. Then they’ll grow up to be good men and
women.
Well, anyway, in a minute or two crafty Danny Fox sneaked around to the
rear of the Henhouse, for he didn’t want Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog,
to see him. No sooner had he pulled on the loose board than he began to
smile.
“I hope Old Sic’em won’t hear me,” he said, as he pushed his nose in
the crack and gave a great shove. Then, Oh, dear me! I mean, Oh, how
glad I am! The rusty nails made a dreadful noise--such a dreadful noise
that you could hear them in the next story.