“Nor me, neither, Dorothy. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard of anybody wanting to call one.”
They both laughed. “You don’t seem to know much about foxes,” teased Dorothy. “Didn’t you ever see a fox?”
“No. But my father says the way they steal eggs and suck them is a caution.”
“Well,” admitted Dorothy, “we can’t stand around here all day, trying to get frozen foxes out of hollow logs. I’ll try whistling, and you can make a noise like a sucked egg. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to leave him in his lair.” With a wink at the giggling Gretchen, she bent down again and whistled shrilly. “Here, boy!” she called. “Come on out to your mama!”
There was a scrambling noise within the log, and Gretchen started for the pond.
“Oh, be careful, Dorothy! Do be careful!” she cried, as she saw her friend gather a small creature into her arms. “What is it, anyway—is it a fox?”
“No, a first cousin.” Dorothy shook the ends of her wool scarf free from snow and wrapped them around the small animal.
“A first cousin?” Gretchen came nearer. “What in the world do you mean by that?”
“Come and take a look,” her friend invited. “He won’t bite you, will you, boy?”
Gretchen saw her pat a little black nose that poked its way out of the scarf. A long pointed head, brindle and white, in which were set two snapping black eyes, followed the nose. “Why, why, it’s a fox terrier—a fox terrier puppy!” she gasped. “How do you suppose he ever came to crawl into that log?”