“What about Old Man Lynx?”
“Well, I know he is not popular. But, after all, he’s a good mouser. And we must spare our mousers, the fox and the skunk and the big barn owl,—for the mice destroy our grain, and I don’t know anything muskrats are good for except their fur. I’m not quite sure about the wild cat, but he doesn’t do much harm, does he, as long as there are fish to be caught? And he is a good mouser.”
“What about bears?” asked the Hired Man, with one foot on the chopping block.
“Never do any great amount of harm,” returned the Farmer. “They can catch mice with the best of them. Besides, they’re mostly vegetarians. It isn’t once in a coon’s age you’ll find one of these black bears that would harm a baby, if you let him alone.”
“The deer seem awfully afraid of bears.”
“They have a lot more reason for being afraid of men,” said the Farmer, eyeing the Hired Man’s gun.
“And porcupines? What about porcupines?” asked the latter.
“They mind their own business,” spoke up the Boy. “Let them live. You’ll have plenty to do, hunting animals like wolverines and martins and mink and weasels. But don’t any one hurt my friends!”
Thus Fleet Foot and her fawns were allowed to live happily on, as season followed season in the good green woods.
