Patch, looking across the meadow, but at last she turned and hopped up the little path through the brambles to the tiny garden in the rear of her pretty white bungalow. “I’ll pick some carrots and lettuce,” she said to herself. Filling her apron, she had hardly turned to hop into her neat little kitchen when, all of a sudden, just like that, quick as the wind that blows off your hat, over the Old Rail Fence jumped Danny Fox. “Oh, dear, oh, dear!” she cried. “My dear, my dear!” laughed Danny Fox, creeping toward her, “how sweet and tender you look!” Poor little Lady Love dropped the carrots and lettuce and hopped toward the barn, but Wicked Danny Fox was too quick for her. Then she tried to hop over to the woodpile, but the nimble old beast again jumped in front of her. “You’d better let me put you in my bag,” snarled the cruel beast. “If you don’t, I’ll bite off your left ear.” “Please, oh, please, don’t touch me,” cried the frightened little bunny lady. “Oh, oh, oh.” Just then a friendly bark sounded near, and the next minute over the fence came the Yellow Dog Tramp. “Get out!” he shouted, and, picking up a stick of wood, he hit the old fox over the head. “Ouch! ouch!” yelled that old robber, and away he sneaked, leaving Lady Love and the kind dog to pick up the carrots and lettuce leaves. “Dear me,” thought the old fox, as he ran into the Shady Forest, “it grows worse every day. Some one always comes at the wrong time.” Yes, indeed, this old robber hardly knew what to do. Every time he started out from his den in the rocky hillside, somebody would call over the wireless: “Danny Fox is going hunting!” After that warning, of course, everybody locked his front door and bolted his back door and pulled down the window shades. “My dear,” he said, one dark gloomy night to Mrs. Fox, “maybe I can bring home a chicken—it’s dark enough to hide me.” So off he started with a big empty bag over his shoulder. As he softly crept through the Shady Forest he saw a little twinkling star. “Now, who’s that, I wonder?” he asked himself in a whisper. But, of course, as he didn’t know, he got no answer. “I must be careful,” he thought, “it might be the Policeman Dog’s lantern.” So the old robber fox hid behind a tree and waited. By and by, after a while, who should come along but a firefly. My, how her little lantern flickered and flared in the wind. “Oh, ho!” said Danny Fox, “who’s afraid? I’m glad it’s not the Policeman Dog!” The little firefly kept on her way, for, of course, she hadn’t heard Danny Fox thinking. As her little light had disappeared in the darkness the old robber came out of his hiding place. Then off he started again for the henhouse. By and by he reached the Old Barnyard. But just as he crept around the Big Red Barn, Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog, looked 

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