“You’re crazy, Sis; it is only a fox, and they’re bad things. It’ll bite you and make no end of a row,” but as he glanced at her face he saw something there that stopped all argument, and he hastened to obey.
Then Brooke, placing the lantern on the ground, drew nearer to the little beast. Yes, he was starving. He tried to stand and toppled over against the shed; he was powerless and at bay. Fixing her eyes on his, she read his feelings interpreted by her own of that very afternoon, and kneeling there in the snow, she understood him.
A vital wave swept over her. Hanging the lantern on her arm, she slipped the cape from off her shoulders with a swift movement, and covered the fox with it, wrapping him completely. Then, lifting him in her arms, for he was less weighty than a well-fed cat, she carried the bundle to the barn, and slipping the latch, laid the poor little beast on the haymow, a futile snap and snarl or two having been its only protests.
When the Cub returned with the various articles of food, he was astonished to see the pair facing each other, not a yard apart, with the lantern hanging from a beam shedding light upon the strange scene.
While the Cub was near the fox would not touch the food, but when he hid from its sight, after a time it lapped the egg that Brooke broke and put before it, as a dog would, and presently the milk; then, still wearing the hunted look, settled deeper into the hay lair where she had placed it, panting and with lolling tongue.
“We will go away now and leave it in peace; only promise me, Adam, that when it grows strong it shall run free, and no one shall kill it; remember, it is my guest.” Adam promised, and hastily securing the latch, they went back to the house. The Cub went to the library to tell his mother of the adventure, but Brooke lingered in the kitchen. A half-hour passed, and hearing no sound, the Cub went to the door. Returning softly, he beckoned his mother to follow, and together they stood in the shadow of the doorway, looking into the room. Two lamps stood side by side on the mantel-shelf, casting an oblique light; below and at one side of the fireplace stood Brooke, palette in hand, a straight-backed chair before her; resting on its arms, as if it were an easel, was the great oblong bread-board, and on this the girl was painting, with broad rapid strokes, the head of a fox. Her cloak still hung from her shoulders, her cheeks glowed; her eyes they could not see until she half turned her head for a moment as if following a strayed memory, then they noticed a strange light in them as of inspiration.