As he entered, one of them had evidently caught hold of his new tail, and the pack had torn it in shreds. Two hunters came along shortly, and, after a talk with the teacher, took their dogs away. But for three days Bony came not forth and was seen no more of men, save only when he crept to the hole for a lap of water and to seize a doughnut from the hand of Paul, whereupon he retired promptly.
"He ain't going to take any chances," said the widow, laughing.
When at last he came forth, it was with a soft step and new resolutions. And a while later, when Trove heard Darrel say that caution was the only friend of weakness, he understood him perfectly.
"Not every brush has a fox on it," said the widow, and the words went from lip to lip until they were a maxim of those country-folk.
And Trove was to think of it when he himself was like the poor dog that wore a fox's tail.
XIV
A Day at the Linley Schoolhouse
A remarkable figure was young Sidney Trove, the new teacher in
District No. 1. He was nearing nineteen years of age that winter.
"I like that," he said to the trustee, who had been telling him of the unruly boys—great, hulking fellows that made trouble every winter term. "Trouble—it's a grand thing I—but I'm not selfish, and if I find any, I'll agree to divide it with the boys. I don't know but I'll be generous and let them have the most of it. If they put me out of the schoolhouse, I'll have learned something."
The trustee looked at the six feet and two inches of bone and muscle that sat lounging in a chair—looked from end to end of it.