get the dog away, but they durst not touch either of
them--the cat would have flown at them; besides, they were cowards, as
cruel people always are. Then a gentleman came up, and he got a
pitchfork, and secured the poor beasts, and they were both killed. At
least the dog was, for certain. Now that's a fact," said the gardener.

[Illustration: REYNARD HARD PUSHED.
_Page 45._]

"I can tell you another curious thing," added he; "it's about a fox this
time. It didn't happen anywhere about here, but in a part of the
country where there's a deal of hunting going on. This poor fox was
being hunted, and away he went through woods, over ploughed land and
meadows, the pack of hounds and the huntsmen in full cry after him, when
they came to a small village. Up the street ran the fox, the dogs at his
heels, when he saw the open door of a house and ran inside, up the
stairs, and crouched under a cot where a little child lay fast asleep!
The mistress of the house saw the fox rush in, and she instantly shut
the front door, as she knew she would have the whole pack of hounds in
her house. As it was, two dogs, a little in front of the others, rushed
past her through the hall into the kitchen, then into the yard; so they
at once shut the kitchen door, and the dogs just missed the fox. There
was a sight all round the house; the dogs were just mad to get in, and
trampled down the flower-beds--for there was no keeping them out of the
front garden--making such a yelling and barking as you never heard. At
last one of the huntsmen came into the house, caught the fox, and
carried him away in a bag. The next day a gentleman sent his gardener to
put the garden straight again, after the dogs; but the crocuses, which
were just showing nicely for bloom, were quite spoiled. They sent the
fox's brush--that's his tail, you know--to the mistress. I've been
inside this very house, and seen where the fox went to hide himself.
It's not the way of the creatures that live in the woods to come into
houses, but the poor fox was hard drove; he was.

"But now, Master Jack, I've finished my job in this shed, and I must
go."

V.

_HIVING THE BEES._

"Busy bee, busy bee, where do you go?"--
"To meadows and gardens whose sweets I know;
Filling my baskets with spoils from the flowers,
Working hard for the hive in sunny hours."--C. H.

In a sunny corner of the kitchen garden stood a row of bee-hives. Many a
time did the children stand to watch the b