“It’s a half-grown fox,” whispered the Cub, to Brooke. “Good work if I can only kill it; there’ll be one less to kill the fowls. Look out that it doesn’t dodge past you there, Sis,” and the Cub was going toward it, club raised. But the little fox never stirred. They could only tell that it was alive by the heaving of its lean sides. “Stop!” said Brooke, hoarsely, laying a detaining and no very gentle touch on her brother’s arm. “I won’t have it killed. I believe that it is starving, like those quails I saw this morning, only they could move, and this fox is too weak. I’m going to take it in the barn and feed it, and make it live. Get me some milk, and eggs, and meat.” “You’re crazy, Sis; it is only a fox, and they’re bad things. It’ll bite you and make no end of a row,” but as he glanced at her face he saw something there that stopped all argument, and he hastened to obey. Then Brooke, placing the lantern on the ground, drew nearer to the little beast. Yes, he was starving. He tried to stand and toppled over against the shed; he was powerless and at bay. Fixing her eyes on his, she read his feelings interpreted by her own of that very afternoon, and kneeling there in the snow, she understood him. A vital wave swept over her. Hanging the lantern on her arm, she slipped the cape from off her shoulders with a swift movement, and covered the fox with it, wrapping him completely. Then, lifting him in her arms, for he was less weighty than a well-fed cat, she carried the bundle to the barn, and slipping the latch, laid the poor little beast on the haymow, a futile snap and snarl or two having been its only protests. When the Cub returned with the various articles of food, he was astonished to see the pair facing each other, not a yard apart, with the lantern hanging from a beam shedding light upon the strange scene. While the Cub was near the fox would not touch the food, but when he hid from its sight, after a time it lapped the egg that Brooke broke and put before it, as a dog would, and presently the milk; then, still wearing the hunted look, settled deeper into the hay lair where she had placed it, panting and with lolling tongue.