Excerpt for The Little Red Fox by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

The Little Red Fox

Rishi Harrison

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018

The Little Red Fox

Monty was sitting on the wall. He wasn’t thinking of anything in particular, just looking around. Joseph called to him from the barnyard, “Come on and play ’I spy.’”

But Monty only grumbled, “Don’t want to.”

Well, let’s play ’Cross Tag’ then,” Joseph suggested.

“Don’t want to,” repeated his brother again, not very politely.

Joseph thought for a moment, then he suggested something worth-while:

I’ll tell you what, let’s play ’Chicken-on-the-Rock.’”

Monty only said very crossly, “I don’t want to play any of your old games.” Now when Monty acted that way there must have been something the matter. Perhaps he had gobbled down his oatmeal too fast–in great big gulps–when he should have let the Thirty White Horses “champ, champ, champ,” all those oats. They were cooked oats, but then the Thirty White Horses, unlike Teddy and Hal and old Frank, prefer cooked oats to raw.

Perhaps he had eaten a sour apple. Sometimes he did that, and the tart juice puckered his mouth all up, and–what was worse–puckered his stomach all up, too.

Any way, he felt tired and out-of-sorts; tired of his toys, tired of all the games, even such nice ones as “Chicken-on-the-rock” and “Red Reggie.”

There was nothing to do but sit on the wall.

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