"Have they been disturbing your earth?" asked the Hind. "I hope the Cubs are all well." Then the Vixen could not help stopping to say: "Yes, they'm well. This is the last of mun. Twenty mile and more have I gone back and 'vor with mun this blessed night. They was rather a late litter, you see, and I was obliged to carry mun. But I'm not tired, oh no, I am not tired—my lady." And she went on again doggedly with her Cub, though they could see that she was so tired that she could hardly move. And let me tell you that it was a great stretch of civility for the Vixen to call the Hind "my lady," for Foxes are very independent, and like a great many other people think that they must show their independence by being uncivil; whereby they only prevent others from seeing what brave, patient creatures they really are.
The very next morning they saw a new visitor come in, a grey old person as big as the Vixen, with a long sharp nose, and a deal of white about his face, a very little short tail, and four short clumsy legs. He was waddling along slowly, and grumbling to himself: "'Tisn't often that I spake, but spake I will. 'Tis mortal hard that he should come and take my house. 'Tis my house, I made mun, and I digged mun. 'Tisn't right; 'tisn't rasonable."
"What is it, old Grey?" said the Hind.
The Badger looked up and stared. Then he said very slowly "Aw!" drawing out the word till he could collect his wits. "Well, look 'ee, 'tis like this. Two days agone,—I think 'twas two days—the old Dog-Fox—you know mun, he that hath so much white to his brush—well, he cometh to me, and saith he, 'Brocky,' he saith—that's a name he calleth me, Brocky, friendly like, though he warn't no friend o' mine that I know of—Well, he saith, 'Brocky, I know of so pretty a nest of Rabbits as a Badger could wish to see. I can't dig mun out,' he saith, 'but you can. Oh! what I would give to be able to dig like you, Brocky!' he saith. 'Come 'long wi' me, and I'll show 'ee.' Well, now I'll tell 'ee which way we went."
"No, never mind that," said the Hind, "we musn't keep you, you know."
"Aw!" said the Badger, "well, we come to the bury, and wonderful sweet they rabbits did smell, sure enough. 'Now,' he saith, 'I'll leave 'ee.' And I digged the rabbits out; I forget how many there was—eight or nine I think—I ate mun all up, I know, and very sweet they was, I won't deny that. And them I went 'oom, but bless your life, when I got there I couldn't go into mun. Oh! 'twas terrible sure enough; 'twas more than my poor nose could stand. And the old Fox he looketh out and saith, 'Tis wonderful kind of you, Brocky,' he saith, 'to give me your house. Mrs. Vicky liketh it wonderful, she doth. Ah! I wish I could dig like you, Brocky,' he saith. And he's taken my house, and here I be. 'Tisn't right; 'tisn't rasonable."
And he waddled away growling out, "'Tisn't rasonable," for, being a Devonshire Badger, he was of course fond of long words, though he might not always understand their meaning. And the Calf could hardly help laughing as he saw the poor, stupid old fellow blundering on his way.
But if he fared ill, the Vixen and her Cubs fared well enough. The Cubs grew so fast that they began to look after themselves, and they were often to be seen wandering about the wood, grubbing after beetles and gobbling up the fallen berries. And the Calf grew also, for he was now four months old, you must remember; and of all the months in his life, those first four were, I suspect, the happiest.