"Oh, yes; a rabbit."

"And this one?"

"A fox," said I, doubtfully.

"Yes, indeed. See the shape and size of the foot. Yes, that's a fox."

"And this one?"

"Oh, that's a kitty." (A cat, he meant to say.) "Strange how many cats are prowling about this country at night," he continued. "I have caught two this season, and C—— has caught two."

"Do you skin them?"

"Yes," with a laugh.

Here were red-squirrel tracks, and here a big dog's, and here again a fox's. At another point a bevy of quail had crossed the road. "One, two, three," my farmer began to count. "Yes; there were twelve." I had remarked, just before, that I hadn't seen a quail for I didn't know how long. "And look here," he said, as we approached the farm on our return. He led the way to a diminutive chicken-coop sitting by itself in the orchard. A single hen, which had been ailing, was confined in it, he said. A fox had gone round and round it in the night,