The trap was very old and the spring rusty, and the more Mrs. Fox looked at it the more hopeful she became.
“Bring me a stone, Slyboots,” she cried. Carefully placing part of the trap on the front doorstep, she hit the old spring several hard blows. Crack! it went, and the trap fell apart. Danny Fox pulled out his foot without any trouble at all.
“There, you’re free,” said Mrs. Fox, laying down the stone. “I hope next time you’ll be more careful where you put your feet.”
Danny Fox didn’t reply. He was too busy rubbing his sore ankle, while the two little foxes hugged him, delighted at seeing him out of danger.
Presently Mrs. Fox found some salve to rub on his foot. She felt sorry for Daddy, you may be sure. It was only in kindness she had said she hoped he would be more careful next time where he put his feet.
“But what have we got to eat?” sighed poor tired Danny Fox.
“You were gone so long, Daddy,” answered Mrs. Fox, with a laugh, “that I went out on a little hunt all by myself. Wait, and I’ll show you what I brought home.”
In a minute she came back from the kitchen with a plump young chicken. “This is what I found,” she said. “It was a naughty chicken to roost in a tree instead of going to bed in the Henhouse. But it’s lucky for us.”