“Crackey, Aggie!” gasped Neale, “that’s a fox.”
“A fox? Right here near the house? Just like that?” gasped the girl. “Why—why, he must be wild!”
“Crackey!” returned Neale, smothering his laughter, “you didn’t suppose he was tame, did you?”
“But—but,” stammered the girl, “if a wild fox comes so near the house, one of those dreadful lynxes may come—or a bear. I never! Why, we might be besieged by wolves and bears and wildcats. Did you ever?”
“No, I never was,” scoffed Neale. “Not yet. But, really, I am willing to be. I’ll try anything—once.”
“I guess you wouldn’t be so smart, young man, if the animals really did come here and serenade us. Why—”
“Listen! That fellow is serenading us now,” declared Neale, much amused.
The sharp, shrill yap of the fox reached their ears. Then, from the rear of the house where Tom Jonah was confined in the back kitchen, the roar of the old dog’s bark answered the fox’s yapping.
And then from somewhere—was it from above and inside the house, or outside and in the black woods?—there sounded a sharp explosion. Agnes flashed a questioning glance at Neale; but the boy pointed, crying:
“Quick! Look! The fox!”