“Up here you’re safe. But keep your eyes open, and you’ll see someone dangerous. There—there—”

The bushes parted a very little, quite soundlessly. At first the two saw nothing; finally they detected a pair of greedily searching eyes, a sharp face, white around the nose—a face they thought enormous, a face with a shrewd but troubled expression, searching, sniffing, marked by hunger and trouble. Neither Porro nor Perri understood this air of suffering. They were merely filled with dread as the fox crept nearer. His red body horrified them; to them it seemed tremendous. His stately brush roused a sort of shuddering admiration.

The magpie gave a piercing scream of warning.

The fox raised his head to the bird, and growled softly, “Don’t make it so hard for me!”

“I must! I must!” chattered the magpie. “The hare got away from you without my help. You won’t find any of the woods creatures here, now that I’ve given warning.”

Beyond in the far trees the jay was screeching. “He too!” grumbled the fox. Sadly lowering his nose to sniff at the ground, he went on, broke into a trot, and disappeared.

Breathlessly Perri and Porro had watched the drama of his passing. The magpie chattered after him: “ ‘Don’t make it so hard for me,’ indeed! A fellow like that is strong, much stronger than anybody—and then he wants you to make it easy for him. The very idea!”

“Why don’t you follow him?” Porro inquired.

“Unnecessary. Members of my family are doing sentry duty all along his path.”

“Imagine—even that vain, envious jay rascal’s helping!” Porro was astonished.

“The jay?” The magpie laughed. “Envy is his trouble. He just wants to make mischief. He doesn’t even realize he’s saving others. If it occurs to him afterward, he gets angry, or else acts important and even prouder than ever.”

“How clever of the hare!” Porro said to change the subject. “I’m sorry he had to go; he was just about to tell me something I was very curious about. But now I understand.”

“The hare,” said the magpie, “the good old hare, he’s one of the most unfortunate creatures in the forest.”

“Oh, no.” Porro was doubtful.

“Yes, he is! You can take my word for it!” The magpie became quite gentle. “He does no one any harm. He’s always peaceful and timid because he can’t protect himself. Everybody attacks him—the polecat, the fox, the hawk, even the weasel, and at night the owl. Who knows how many others? He can’t defend himself; he’s everyone’s victim.”

“He can run,” said Porro. “It’s wonderful how he runs!”

“Yes,” said the magpie, “but that’s all he can do. He can’t fly away like me, he can’t climb like you—”

“The poor thing,” Perri sympathized, “and he has only that little white button.” Proudly she hoisted her tall, bushy flag.

Images

Chapter Nine

DUSK WAS JUST STARTING TO fall. Wide shadows lay across the forest, but their shade was not cool. Gnats which had danced in the sun went tirelessly on in the twilight. Beetles buzzed about industriously, and moths fluttered noiselessly over bush and turf.