Then Sharp Eyes hurried on until he reached his home in the hollow log. By this time his father and mother, with Twinkle and Winkle, had come back from the hunt. They had some partridges and wood mice, and there was plenty for all to eat.
“Oh, my poor little Sharp Eyes!” said Mrs. Fox, when she saw him. “What hurt you?”
“I got caught in a trap,” he answered, and he told all that had happened, and how Don had helped him get loose.
“That dog was very kind to you,” remarked Twinkle.
“Yes, indeed he was. But you must be more careful,” said Mr. Fox gravely. “The next time you get caught, Sharp Eyes, you may not get out so easily. A scraped paw is nothing. You were very lucky.”
Sharp Eyes thought so himself, and the next few days, as he limped around through the woods, he kept a careful watch for traps or other signs of danger. But he saw none.
In about a week his foot was well enough for him to use again in walking or running, but he still limped a little. It was not quite all healed.
One morning, very early, Sharp Eyes got up before any of the others, and started out of the hollow log house.
“I’m going through the woods and down by that farmhouse,” said the fox to himself. “Maybe I can find a fat duck for breakfast.”
Sharp Eyes did not go near the place where he had been caught in the trap. He did not like to remember it, and he thought perhaps there might be another set there to catch him. So he went about a mile out of his way, and then circled around toward the farm.