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 turned out very differently, and there might have been several branches to this story, instead of one main theme.

Mother Fox of course did all she could, but she had not the cunning of the old hunter. Neither did she have the strength. She could not lead the hounds away from the home burrow and take them miles away and then snarl up the track so that the family might be saved. But all that she could do she did, even as fearlessly as Father Fox would have done.

So, when the Fox Club in the city not eight miles distant from the den where the little foxes had been reared took up their Autumn sport, the fox family were not fully prepared to successfully withstand their onslaught.

Usually the Meadow City Fox Club staged their hunts on the western side of the great river, but the Autumn of which I write the first hunt took place on the eastern side of the river, along the mountain range where the fox family had their burrow. This mountain range extended from the meadows