The Silent Readers Part 18

FATHER DOMINO

It was the early spring time. The snow banks were melting away, leaving the brown earth soft enough for the flowers to push through as soon as they felt the warmth of the sun.

Across the high hill, which sloped down to the river, came a pair of foxes. The splendid Silver Fox, with a black mark across the eyes like a mask, was called Domino. The dainty little lady fox by his side, with a red coat and an elegant ruffle of white, was Snowyruff. They had met one day in the woods, and chosen each other for mates and friends for life, as is the way of foxes. Now they were searching through the woods for a place to build their home.

Snowyruff looked about the piney glade, nosed the ground, then began to dig. It was her way of saying, "I am satisfied. We'll set up housekeeping here."

She did not know that she had chosen the same sunny slope on which Domino himself had lived as a tiny cub, but she did know that it was a fine place for a home for a family of foxes. The hillside would be sheltered and warm; the den door would be hidden by the pine thicket near.

The deep snow and deep leaves had kept the earth soft enough for her to dig, so she worked away with a will. Domino sat on the hill and kept guard for an hour, then he took her place and worked while Snowyruff kept watch. So, working together, they built their home; a cozy, well-hidden den it was, too. No eye could detect it, though within a dozen feet; and as the warm spring sunshine set the gra.s.s growing, it was better hidden each day.

The pair were more and more careful not to be seen near the den. At last one day Snowyruff said to Domino: "Keep away now!" and he kept away from the den for days. While he was absent a wonderful thing happened: Five little foxes were born! When Snowyruff left them to slip down to the river for a cooling drink of water, Domino was there on the bank watching. She said to him in plain Fox language: "You must not come home yet," so he crouched with his head flat on the leaves, and she hurried back to the den.

The next day when she was hungry, she ate some of the food which they had stored up in the dry sand of the side chamber of the den. Two days later, she went to the door, and there was a pile of food--Domino had stolen down and left it for her and their babies. After that, every day, there was food at the door, or hidden in the gra.s.s near by.

When the cubs were nine days old their eyes opened, they whimpered less, and Snowyruff felt it safer to leave them. Domino now came in to see his family, and a proud father he was. He guarded them with the greatest care, and was as devoted to them as Mother Snowyruff herself.

When they were about a month old, the little toddlers were brought out into the sunlight in front of the den. There they romped and wrestled and raced with each other. Sometimes they chased flies or b.u.mble-bees, sometimes they made a fine game of catching Mother's tail, or tussled over a dried duck's wing.

As the days pa.s.sed and the young foxes grew stronger, Domino and Snowyruff began teaching them to find food for themselves. Live game was brought home each day. Sometimes a frog, or a fat field mouse, was brought, and then turned loose for the youngsters to re-capture. Once Domino called, "Chur-chur-chur," and when the rollicking cubs came tumbling over one another, he dropped a live muskrat in their midst.

They pounced on it, but the muskrat was a desperate fighter. It seemed for a time that he would win, but the father and mother only looked on. They must let their children learn to do hard things for themselves, so they waited until one cub was strong enough and quick enough to lay the muskrat low.

The happy growing days went by, and the cubs had not learned the meaning of fear. One day Domino was returning home with food. Five little black noses, ten little beady eyes, set in woolly heads, were bunched at the den door. Suddenly the bay of a hound sounded near and Domino leaped on a stump to listen. There was no mistake; the hound was coming nearer the home place. Snowyruff warned the little ones, and Domino loped bravely out to meet his enemy. He showed himself boldly, and even barked defiance at the big hound, then dashed away, leading him farther and farther from the den.

Domino ran hard for an hour, then began trying to throw the hound off his trail, but it was not easy. The hound was swift and keen in following the trail, and though he doubled, crossed, and tried every trick he knew, Domino could not throw him off. The fox ran lightly ahead, the hound crashing heavily after him, baying loudly. At last Domino led his enemy along a narrow ledge which ran at the edge of a cliff overhanging the river.

On they went. Domino was growing very tired. His steps were lagging so that the hound was gaining upon him at every jump. Up and up they went; Domino went slower still. The hound could see him just ahead. He drew closer with each bound. At last Domino reached the top of the cliff. His black coat gleamed against the sky. He could go no farther; it was the end of the trail. The hound plunged forward, and leaped at the fox; but Domino sprang lightly aside, and the hound plunged headlong over the rugged cliff. He was hurled down into the icy flood below. He swam out as best he could, battered and bleeding, and limped home, whining with pain. Domino turned back and ran to the den, where five little black noses, ten little beady eyes, set in five little woolly heads, waited for their father.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LIVE GAME WAS BROUGHT HOME EACH DAY]

The hound never came back again, and the Fox family lived in peace until the little foxes grew large enough to leave the home den and make homes for themselves.

--_From "Stories for Children and How to Tell Them".

Courtesy of J. Berg Esenwein._

QUESTIONS

1. What kind of home does a fox build for his family?

2. What kind of lessons did the Fox children have to be taught?

3. What did Domino do that reminds you of what a human father would do for his family?

4. Make a list of the things the Fox family did that seem almost human.

THE GOOD GIANT WINS HIS FORTUNE

Here is just one "movie" scene, just enough to fill up this page.

If you have forgotten how to play it, refer to the directions on page 38.

"Ha," said the giant as he stooped down and picked up something. "Here is the key." Then he unbolted the door and walked into the vault where he saw chests of gold and silver arranged along the wall. He marked dozens of them with the chalk that he had in his pocket. When he had finished, he put a purse full of diamonds in his pocket, swung a bag full of money over his shoulder, and went out without another word, locking the terrified steward in.

THE MOLE AWAKES

One of the facts discovered by a student of nature is that every part of an animal's body is fitted to perform its special task, and to help the animal live in the surroundings where it finds its home. Notice three ways in which the mole's bodily equipment is fitted to the life he leads.

"Dig" is expressed in every line of the mole's body. Digging is his life-work, and to this Nature has adapted his every organ. His eyes are of no use in this underground life, and so they have dwindled away until externally there is little sign of them. Objects he probably never sees with any distinctness, though he still can tell light from darkness. But he seems to recognize light only to avoid it. In the darkness of his tunnels not only would his eyes be useless, but dirt would be apt to get into them while he is digging; so they are gradually leaving him.

The ears, too, or that part of them that projects from the head, would be in the way. So they have been discarded. The inner and most important part of the ear, however, still remains, and the mole hears quite well.

His most remarkable difference from ordinary animals is in the arms.

These are very short, and the hands are broad, hard, and h.o.r.n.y, and have very firm claws. When I catch a good, vigorous mole, I find I scarcely have force enough in my thumb and forefinger to hold his front feet together. He can often separate them in spite of all my straining. His other muscles are comparatively weak. The hands have been altered into great shovels, and when he tries to walk over smooth, level ground or on a floor he moves with odd, quick steps, resting on the sides and not on the palms of his hands. He reminds one of a wound-up toy that is held in the air and allowed to run down.

But when he gets under the sod, the heaving line that forms over him as he digs shows that there he is in his proper element. Most animals would get dirty leading such a life, but you never see a cleaner animal than the mole. He comes out of the loose earth and squirms about a little, and he is clean. His smooth gray fur, shading to a silvery hue when it is ruffled, is very short and close and exceedingly dry. Indeed I know no animal with a more velvety coat. He would be a delightful pet to handle were it not for his ceaseless wriggling. Then too he carries a strong musky odor. This latter, indeed, is his only defence and I fear it is a poor one. Certainly it does not usually deter a dog from snapping him up. But perhaps it is meant for his friends rather than his foes. Friendly moles may scent each other from afar.

The mole is a reversible machine. He can run forward or backward at will. Probably as a result of this habit, it is wonderful how alike are the two ends of his body, his nose and his tail. Each is slender and each is bare; each is very sensitive, and the tail is just about as long as the nose. I think he uses whichever happens to precede, as a feeler, when he is making his way through his tunnel. For once having made a good big runway, he is very apt to keep on using it through the season.

I doubt not he is often forced to travel backwards through his burrow.

Then his tail must serve him as an effective guide.

--_From "Under the Open Sky", by S. C. Schmucker.

Courtesy of J. B. Lippincott Co._

QUESTIONS

1. Explain what the author means by saying, "The mole is a reversible machine."

2. How long did it take you to read this selection?

THE COUNT AND THE ROBBERS

Ever since the World's War began, we have heard a great deal about Belgium, the gallant little country which saved the world, and Holland, her st.u.r.dy neighbor which stayed neutral. Both these small countries were once called the Netherlands. "Nether" means "lower"; you can see how suitable a name "lower lands" is for a country that is much of it below sea level. Until the fifteenth century this country had no one ruler, but was cut up into many little parts, each governed by a duke or count. Here is the story of a kind count, who ruled in one part of the land in the twelfth century.

In the twelfth century there ruled in Bruges a certain Count Bordewyn, whose fathers had reigned for many years before him. Bruges, in those days, was one of the most important centres of the Netherlands, and the count was a kind and good man whose only thought was to make his people happy. In order that they might not be afraid to tell him their needs, he went about among them dressed as a farmer and a peasant; and they, thinking he was one of themselves, spoke out freely in his presence. One night he left his castle, and, poorly dressed, went out into the country to see if there was any good he could do. It was a dark, cold night, and after walking for some time he was glad to see the lights of a house in the distance. When he reached the building, he knocked at the door and went in. He found himself at a wedding-party given by a farmer whose daughter had been married that day. The good count was very happy to be of the party, and without letting the people know who he was, he sat down with them and sang and feasted. It was very late when they, much against their will, let him leave them, and he walked back through the lonely country, making plans for his people's happiness.