There was a woodchuck that lived over in the hill orchard.  He was neither handsome nor interesting, but he knew how to take care of himself.  He had digged a den between the roots of an old pine-stump, so that the foxes could not follow him by digging.  But hard work was not their way of life; wits they believed worth more than elbow-grease.  This woodchuck usually sunned himself on the stump each morning.  If he saw a fox near he went down in the door of his den, or if the enemy was very near he went inside and stayed long enough for the danger to pass.

One morning Vixen and her mate seemed to decide that it was time the children knew something about the broad subject of Woodchucks, and further that this orchard woodchuck would serve nicely for an object-lesson.  So they went together to the orchard-fence unseen by old Chuckie on his stump.  Scarface then showed himself in the orchard and quietly walked in a line so as to, pass by the stump at a distance, but never once turned his head or allowed the ever-watchful woodchuck to think himself seen.  When the fox entered the field the woodchuck quietly dropped down to the mouth of his den; here he waited as the fox passed, but concluding that after all wisdom is the better part, went into his hole.

This was what the foxes wanted.  Vixen had kept out of sight, but now ran swiftly to the stump and hid behind it.  Scarface had kept straight on, going very slowly.  The woodchuck had not been frightened, so before long his head popped up between the roots and he looked around.  There was that fox still going on, farther and farther away.  The woodchuck grew bold as the fox went, and came out farther, and then seeing the coast clear, he scrambled onto the stump, and with one spring Vixen had him and shook him till he lay senseless.  Scarface had watched out of the corner of his eye and now came running back.  But Vixen took the chuck in her jaws and made for the den, so he saw he wasn’t needed.

Back to the den came Vix, and carried the chuck so carefully that he was able to struggle a little when she got there.  A low ‘woof’ at the den brought the little fellows out like school-boys to play.  She threw the wounded animal to them and they set on him like four little furies, uttering little growls and biting little bites with all the strength of their baby jaws, but the woodchuck fought for his life and beating them off slowly hobbled to the shelter of a thicket.  The little ones pursued like a pack of hounds and dragged at his tail and flanks, but could not hold him back.  So Vix overtook him with a couple of bounds and dragged him again into the open for the children to worry.  Again and again this rough sport went on till one of the little ones was badly bitten, and his squeal of pain roused Vix to end the woodchuck’s misery and serve him up at once.

Not far from the den was a hollow overgrown with coarse grass, the playground of a colony of field-mice.  The earliest lesson in woodcraft that the little ones took, away from the den, was in this hollow.  Here they had their first course of mice, the easiest of all game.  In teaching, the main thing was example, aided by a deep-set instinct.  The old fox, also, had one or two signs meaning “lie still and watch,” “come, do as I do,” and so on, that were much used.