About ten feet below the limb from which
The old fox ran, and—Bless their little lives!—
There, in the hollow of the old tree-trunk—
There, on a bed of warm dry leaves and moss—
There, snug as any bug in any rug—
We found—one—two—three—four, and, yes-sir, five
Wee, weenty-teenty baby-foxes, with
Their eyes just barely opened—Cute?—my-oh!—
The cutest—the most cunning little things
Two boys ever saw, in all their lives!