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But if the wind happened to be blowing his way he'd be sure to smell you," cried Nimble's mother. "And he would find you. And he would jump at you." "I'd run away from him then," said Nimble stoutly. His mother shook her head. "You're spry for your age. But you're too slow to escape a Fox. You're not quick enough for that yet. You don't know how quick Foxes are. So look out!
"I can go any night that is, until I den up for the winter." And every one in the company declared that he hadn't a single engagement that would prevent him from visiting the garden whenever Nimble's mother should say the word. "Well," said she, "it won't be to-night, anyhow." And with that she turned around and began to walk along the runway again, away from the pasture fence.
"I hope," he cried, "you don't mean to say that we Grouse aren't swift!" "No, indeed!" Nimble's mother answered hastily. "I should hope not!" was Mr. Grouse's response to that. "For everybody knows that we go up like rockets at the slightest sign of danger." "Exactly!" said Nimble's mother. "You are so swift that you don't really need those spots to help conceal yourself, once you're grown up."
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