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 stars above him. The fresh March wind whistled about his pen, and all that was between him and freedom was this fragile looking fence. Around and around the fence he went, looking for some opening, but there was none. Finally from sheer exhaustion he was obliged to lie down and rest. So he stretched himself out in the very center of the pen, as far from the four walls as possible, and slept. When he awoke the sun was shining brightly and he could hear another fox barking in a distant pen. There were a hundred adult foxes there on the farm very near to Redcoat, but for all intents and purposes he was alone in his prison.

At about seven o'clock a man came trundling a pushcart down the lane between the two lines of pens. He was bringing the foxes morning breakfast. He stopped at Redcoat's pen, and reaching through the fence put the rations for one fox in the food dish. He also poured cool fresh water in the other dish, and then passed on to the next pen. Redcoat did not realize that water and food were at hand until he saw a