<h2><SPAN name="HOME_AGAIN" id="HOME_AGAIN"></SPAN>HOME AGAIN</h2>
<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">It</span> took him a long time to reach home. You see, he had only three
legs to walk on. His foot hurt him dreadfully, and his leg grew tired
holding up the heavy trap. At last, when he came to his den, he was
ready to drop.</p>
<p>Now, as soon as Mrs. Fox had looked the trap over carefully, she knew
she never could force apart the strong iron jaws that held Danny Fox’s
poor foot, but she did think there might be some other way.</p>
<p>The trap was very old and the spring rusty, and the more Mrs. Fox
looked at it the more hopeful she became.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Bring me a stone, Slyboots,” she cried. Carefully placing part of the
trap on the front doorstep, she hit the old spring several hard blows.
Crack! it went, and the trap fell apart. Danny Fox pulled out his foot
without any trouble at all.</p>
<p>“There, you’re free,” said Mrs. Fox, laying down the stone. “I hope
next time you’ll be more careful where you put your feet.”</p>
<p>Danny Fox didn’t reply. He was too busy rubbing his sore ankle, while
the two little foxes hugged him, delighted at seeing him out of danger.</p>
<p>Presently Mrs. Fox found some salve to rub on his foot. She felt sorry
for Daddy, you may be sure. It was only in kindness she had said she
hoped he would be more careful next time where he put his feet.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“But what have we got to eat?” sighed poor tired Danny Fox.</p>
<p>“You were gone so long, Daddy,” answered Mrs. Fox, with a laugh, “that
I went out on a little hunt all by myself. Wait, and I’ll show you what
I brought home.”</p>
<p>In a minute she came back from the kitchen with a plump young chicken.
“This is what I found,” she said. “It was a naughty chicken to roost in
a tree instead of going to bed in the Henhouse. But it’s lucky for us.”</p>
<p>“Where did you go?” asked Danny Fox, curiously.</p>
<p>“Back of the Old Mill,” answered Mrs. Fox. “I think it’s one of the
chickens belonging to the Miller’s Boy. He takes very<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</SPAN></span> poor care of
them. Perhaps we may be able to get another.”</p>
<p>In a little while supper was ready and the Fox family sat down to the
table, happy and contented now that Daddy Fox was home safe and sound.</p>
<hr class="divider" />
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</SPAN></span>
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