“Do you know where my hollow-log home is? Or do you know my father or mother, or my brother Twinkle or my sister Winkle?”
“No,” would be the answer. “We don’t know.”
“Then I must go on farther,” said Sharp Eyes.
By this time his silver coat was tattered and tangled. In it were burrs and briars. The feet of the silver fox were cut and sore. But still he kept on.
Once a hunter shot at him, hoping to get the silver fur, but the bullet whistled over Sharp Eyes’ back. Once a savage dog chased him, and he had to run very fast, turning many ways, and finally waded a long distance in a brook before the dog lost the scent and gave up.
“Oh dear!” thought Sharp Eyes. “I wonder if I shall ever get home again!”
He was very tired, but he would not give up. One evening, after a day of hard travel, the silver fox felt that he could go no farther. He saw a stream of water just ahead of him, and slowly he limped to it to get a drink.
As he was lapping up the cool drops he heard behind him a voice he seemed to know. It was animal talk, and some one said:
“Oh, Mother! Look! There is a strange fox!”