Reddy Fox was so sore and lame that he could hardly hobble. He had had the hardest kind of work to get far enough ahead of Bowser the Hound to mix his trail up so that Bowser couldn't follow it. Then he had limped home, big tears running down his nose, although he tried hard not to cry. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” moaned Reddy Fox, as he crept in at the doorway of his home.  
“What's the matter now?” snapped old Granny Fox, who had just waked up from a sun nap.
 
“I—I've got hurt,” said Reddy Fox, and began to cry harder. Granny Fox looked at Reddy sharply. “What have you been doing now—tearing your clothes on a barbed-wire fence or trying to crawl through a bull-briar thicket? I should think you were big enough by this time to look out for yourself!” said Granny Fox crossly, as she came over to look at Reddy's hurts.
 
“Please don't scold, please don't, Granny Fox,” begged Reddy, who was beginning to feel sick to his stomach as well as lame, and to smart dreadfully.
 
Granny Fox took one look at Reddy's wounds, and knew right away what had happened. She made Reddy stretch himself out at full length and then she went to work on him, washing his wounds with the greatest care and binding them up. She was very gentle, was old Granny Fox, as she touched the sore places, but all the time she was at work her tongue flew, and that wasn't gentle at all. Oh, my, no! There was nothing gentle about that!
 
You see, old Granny Fox is wise and very, very sharp and shrewd. Just as soon as she saw Reddy's hurts, she knew that they were made by shot from a gun, and that meant that Reddy Fox had............