ount of Miss Ptarmigan's white dress, and the
only way Little White Fox could find her was by watching for her pink
shoes and stockings as she hid away in a snow bank. And when she sat on
her feet, he could almost never find her at all.

"You just wait, Miss," cried Little White Fox one day. "When summer
comes, I'll get you!"

"You will, will you!" replied Miss Ptarmigan. "How will you do it?"

"Why, in the summer the snow will be gone, and the ground will be all
brown. Then I will be able to find you anywhere!" Little White Fox gave
a hop, skip and jump that ended in a somersault, so tickled was he with
his own smartness.

"Oh, indeed!" said Miss Ptarmigan, looking very wise and mysterious.

That was all she said, but Little White Fox wasn't fussed. He hadn't
lain curled up on the grass mat in his home thinking about it night
after night for nothing.

One day when the snow was nearly all gone, Little Miss Ptarmigan
suddenly disappeared. Little White Fox didn't believe she was dead. He
remembered how he had been fooled by Tdariuk, and he remembered, too,
how she had looked when he talked about catching her. Also, he
remembered how he had found out the truth about Tdariuk. Therefore,
being a wise youngster, as I have said, he didn't say a word about it
to his mother. He just went quietly about, looking, looking everywhere
for Miss Ptarmigan.

In the meantime, Miss Ptarmigan had been making trouble for herself.
Silly old Mrs. White Owl had been telling her all winter how very well
white suited her complexion. And now summer had come, and Mother
Ptarmigan had forbidden her to go outdoors at all till her new brown
summer suit was finished. Miss Ptarmigan hated indoors, and she couldn't
understand what difference her dress made, anyway. But she never thought
of disobeying till one fine, warm day when her mother was away from
home, Little Miss Ptarmigan grew very lonesome.

"I want to go out in the sunshine," she kept saying to herself. "There
can't be a bit of harm in it. I am sure I would see Old Mrs. White Owl,
and she would say something nice about my white dress."

Down at the foot of the mountain was some one else, a some one who
didn't think much about the sunshine and the flowers. It was Master
Black Fox. He was thinking of his sausage grinder. It hadn't been used
much of late, and he was afraid it might get lazy. "A plump chub of a
Ptarmigan would grind nicely," he said to himself, smacking his lips,
"but