to know something about him,” he began. “He was the very first person my mother warned me to watch for, because she said he was especially fond of young Rabbits and was the slyest, smartest and most to be feared of all my enemies. Since then I have found out that she knew just what she was talking about.” Johnny Chuck, Danny Meadow Mouse and Whitefoot the Wood Mouse nodded as if they quite agreed. Then Peter continued, “Reddy lives chiefly by hunting, and in his turn he is hunted, so he needs to have sharp wits. When he isn't hunting me he is hunting Danny Meadow Mouse or Whitefoot or Striped Chipmunk or Mrs. Grouse, or Bob White, or is trying to steal one of Farmer Brown's Chickens, or is catching Frogs along the edge of the Smiling Pool, or grasshoppers out in the Green Meadows. So far as I can make out, anything Reddy can catch furnishes him with food. I guess he doesn't eat anything but such things as these.”
“Your guess is wrong, Peter,” spoke up Reddy Fox, who had been listening with a grin on his crafty face. “I am rather fond of certain kinds of fruits. You didn't know that, did you, Peter?”
“No, I didn't,” replied Peter. “I'm glad to know it. I think it is dreadful to live entirely by killing others.”
“You might add,” remarked Reddy, “that I like a meal of fish occasionally, and eggs are always welcome. I am not particular what I eat so long as I can get my stomach full.”
“Reddy Fox hunts with ears, eyes and nose,” continued Peter. “Many a time I've watched him listening for the squeak of Danny Meadow Mouse or watching for the grass to move and show where Danny was hiding; and many a time he has found my scent with his wonderful nose and followed me just as Bowser the Hound follows him. I guess there isn't much going on that Reddy's eyes, ears and nose don't tell him. But it is Reddy's quick wits that the rest of us fear most. We never know what new trick he will try. Lots of enemies are easy to fool, but Reddy isn't one of them. Sometimes I think he knows more about me than I know about myself. I guess it is just pure luck that he hasn't caught me with some of those smart tricks of his.
“Reddy hunts both day and night, but I think he prefers night. I guess it all depends on how hungry he is. More than once I've seen him bringing home a Chicken, but I am told that he is smart enough not to steal Chickens near his home, but always to go some distance to get them. Also I've been told that he is too clever to go to the same Chicken yard two nights in succession. So far as I know, he isn't afraid of any one except a hunter with a terrible gun. He doesn't seem to mind being chased by Bowser the Hound at all.”
“I don't,” spoke up Reddy. “I rather enjoy it. It gives me good exercise. Any time I can't fool Bowser by breaking my trail so he can't find it again, I deserve to be caught. I am not even so terribly afraid of a hunter with a gun. You see, usually I can guess what a hunter will do better than he can what I will do.”
Old Mother Nature nodded. “That sounds like boasting,” said she, “but it isn't. Reddy Fox is one of the few animals who has succeeded in holding his own against man, and he has done it simply by using his wits. There is no other animal as large as Reddy Fox who has succeeded as he has in living close to the homes of men. It is simply because he has made the most of the senses I have given him. He has learned to use his eyes, ears and nose at all times and to understand and make the most of the information they bring him. Reddy has always been hunted by man, and it is this very thing which has so sharpened his wits. It is seldom that he is guilty of making the same mistake twice. All of you little people fear Reddy, and I suspect some of you hate him. But always remember that he never kills for the love of killing, and only when he must have food. There would be something sadly missing in the Green Forest and on the Green Meadows were there no Reddy Fox. Reddy, where do you and Mrs. Reddy make your home? And how do you raise your babies?”
“This year our home is up in the Old Pasture,” replied Reddy. “We have the nicest kind of a house dug in the ground underneath a big rock. It has only one entrance, but this is because there is no need of any other. No one could possibly dig us out there. Last year our home was on the Green Meadows and there were three doorways to that. The year before we dug our house in a gravelly bank just within the edge of the Green Forest. The babies are born in a comfortable bedroom deep underground. Sometimes we have a storeroom in addition to the bedroom; there Mrs. Reddy and I can keep food when there is more than can be eaten at one meal. When the babies are first born in the spring and Mrs. Reddy cannot leave them, I take food to her. When the youngsters are big enough to use their sharp little teeth, we take turns hunting food for them. Usually we hunt separately, but sometimes we hunt together. You know often two can do what one cannot. If Bowser the Hound happens to find the trail of Mrs. Reddy when there are babies at home, she leads him far away from our home. Then I join her, and take her place so that she can slip away and go back to the babies. Bowser never knows the difference.
“Our children are well trained if I do say it. We teach them how to hunt, how to fool their enemies, and all the tricks we have learned. No one has a better training than a young Fox.”
“Here is a conundrum for you little folks,” said Old Mother Nature. “When is a Red Fox not a Red Fox?” Everybody blinked. Most of them looked as if they thought Old Mother Nature must be joking. But suddenly Chatterer the Red Squirrel, whose wits are naturally quick, remembered how Old Mother Nature had told them that there were black Gray Squirrels. “When he is some other color,” cried Chatterer.
“That's the answer,” said Old Mother Nature. “Once in a while a pair of Red Foxes will have a baby who hasn't a red hair on him. He will be all black, with perhaps just the tip of his tail white. Or his fur will be all black just tipped with white. Then he is called a Black Fox or Silver Fox. He is still a Red Fox, yet there is nothing red about him. Sometimes the fur is only partly marked with black and then he is called a Cross Fox. A great many people have supposed that the Black or Silver Fox and the Cross Fox were distinct kinds. They are not. They are simply Red Foxes with different coats. The fur of the Silver Fox is considered by man to be one of the choicest of all furs and tremendous prices are paid for it. This means, of course, that a young Fox whose coat is black will need to be very smart indeed if he would live to old age, for once he has been seen by man he will be hunted unceasingly.”
Reddy Fox had been listening intently and now Mother Nature noticed a worried look on his face. “What is it, Reddy?” said she. “You look anxious.”
“I am anxious,” said he. “What you have just said has worried me. You see, one of my cubs at home is all black. Now that I have learned that his fur is so valuable, Mrs. Reddy and I will have to take special pains to teach him all we know.”
“I want you all to know that Reddy Fox and Mrs. Reddy mate for life,” said Old Mother Nature. “Reddy is the best of fathers and the best of mates.”
“There's one thing I do envy Reddy,” spoke up Peter Rabbit, “and that is that big tail of his. It is a wonderful tail. I wish I had one like it.”
How everybody laughed as they tried to picture Peter Rabbit with a big tail like that of Reddy Fox. “I am afraid you wouldn't get far if you had to carry that around,” said Old Mother Nature. “Even Reddy finds it rather a burden in wet weather when it becomes heavy with water. That is one reason you do not find him abroad much when it is raining or in winter when the snow is soft and wet. Reddy Fox is at home all over the northern half of this country, and everywhere he is the same sly, clever fellow whom you all know so well.
THE GRAY FOX. In some places he is called the Tree Fox.
“In the South and some parts of the East and West, Reddy has a cousin of about his own size whose coat is gray with red on the sides of his neck, ears and across his breast. The under part of his body is reddish, his throat and the middle of his breast are white. He is called the Gray Fox. He prefers the Green Forest to the open country, for he is not nearly as smart as his Cousin Reddy. He is, if anything, a better runner, but his wits are slower and he cannot so well hold his own against man. Instead of making his home in a hole in the ground, he usually chooses a hollow tree-trunk or hollow log. The babies are born in a nest of leaves in the bottom of a hollow tree. In some parts of the West this Fox is called the Tree Fox,