But there is one way in which fox of the wilderness and fox of the town are alike easily deceived.  Both are very fond of mice, and respond quickly to the squeak, which can be imitated perfectly by drawing the breath in sharply between closed lips.  The next thing, after that is learned, is to find a spot in which to try the effect.

Two or three miles back from almost all New England towns are certain old pastures and clearings, long since run wild, in which the young foxes love to meet and play on moonlight nights, much as rabbits do, though in a less harum-scarum way.  When well fed, and therefore in no hurry to hunt, the heart of a young fox turns naturally to such a spot, and to fun and capers.  The playground may easily be found by following the tracks after the first snowfall. (The knowledge will not profit you probably till next season; but it is worth finding and remembering.) If one goes to the place on some still, bright night in autumn, and hides on the edge of the open, he stands a good chance of seeing two or three foxes playing there.  Only he must himself be still as the night; else, should twenty foxes come that way, he will never see one.

It is always a pretty scene, the quiet opening in the woods flecked with soft gray shadows in the moonlight, the dark sentinel evergreens keeping silent watch about the place, the wild little creatures playing about among the junipers, flitting through light and shadow, jumping over each other and tumbling about in mimic warfare, all unconscious of a spectator as the foxes that played there before the white man came, and before the Indians.  Such scenes do not crowd themselves upon one.  He must wait long, and love the woods, and be often disappointed; but when they come at last, they are worth all the love and the watching.  And when the foxes are not there, there is always something else that is beautiful.—­

Now squeak like a mouse, in the midst of the play.  Instantly the fox nearest you stands, with one foot up, listening.  Another squeak, and he makes three or four swift bounds in your direction, only to stand listening again; he hasn’t quite located you.  Careful now! don’t hurry; the longer you keep him waiting, the more certainly he is deceived.  Another squeak; some more swift jumps that bring him within ten feet; and now he smells or sees you, sitting motionless on your boulder in the shadow of the pines.

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He isn’t surprised; at least he pretends he isn’t; but looks you over indifferently, as if he were used to finding people sitting on that particular rock.  Then he trots off with an air of having forgotten something.  With all his cunning he never suspects you of being the mouse.  That little creature he believes to be hiding under the rock; and to-morrow night he will very likely take a look there, or respond to your squeak in the same way.