“Get out!” he shouted, and, picking up a stick of wood, he hit the old fox over the head.
“Ouch! ouch!” yelled that old robber, and away he sneaked, leaving Lady Love and the kind dog to pick up the carrots and lettuce leaves.
“Dear me,” thought the old fox, as he ran into the Shady Forest, “it grows worse every day. Some one always comes at the wrong time.”
Yes, indeed, this old robber hardly knew what to do. Every time he started out from his den in the rocky hillside, somebody would call over the wireless:
“Danny Fox is going hunting!”
After that warning, of course, everybody locked his front door and bolted his back door and pulled down the window shades.
“My dear,” he said, one dark gloomy night to Mrs. Fox, “maybe I can bring home a chicken—it’s dark enough to hide me.”
So off he started with a big empty bag over his shoulder. As he softly crept through the Shady Forest he saw a little twinkling star.
“Now, who’s that, I wonder?” he asked himself in a whisper. But, of course, as he didn’t know, he got no answer.
“I must be careful,” he thought, “it might be the Policeman Dog’s lantern.”