The Project Gutenberg eBook of The life story of a squirrel, by T. C. Bridges.

It was a perfect June morning, not a breath stirring, and the sun fairly baking down till the whole air was full of the hot resinous scent of pine-needles; but, warm as it was, I was shivering as I lay out on the tip of a larch-bough and looked down. I was not giddy—a squirrel never is. But that next bough below me, where my mother was sitting, seemed very far away, and I could not help thinking what a tremendous fall it would be to the ground, supposing I happened to miss my landing-place. I am too old now to blush at the recollection of it, and I don’t mind confessing that at the time I was in what I have since heard called a blue funk.

The fact is, it was my first jumping and climbing lesson. Even squirrels have to learn to climb, just as birds have to be taught by their parents to fly.

My mother called me by my name, Scud, sitting up straight, and looking at me encouragingly with her pretty black eyes. But I still hesitated, crouching low on my branch and clinging tight to it with all four sets of small sharp claws.

Mother grew a trifle impatient, and called to my brother Rusty to take my place.

This was too much for me. I took my courage in both fore-paws, set my teeth, and launched myself desperately into the air. I came down flat on my little white stomach, but as at that time I weighed rather less than four ounces, and the bough below was soft and springy, I did not knock the wind out of myself, as one of you humans would have done if you had fallen in the same way.

Mother gave a little snort. She did not approve of my methods, and told me I should spread my legs wider and make more use of my tail. Then she turned and gave a low call to Rusty to follow.

Even at that early age—we were barely a month old—Rusty was a heavier and rather slower-going [3] squirrel than I. But he already showed that bull-dog courage which was so strong a trait all through his after-life. He crawled deliberately to the very end of the branch, then simply let go and tumbled all in a heap right on the top of us. It was extremely lucky for him that mother was so quick as she was. She made a rapid bound forward, and caught her blundering son by the loose skin at the back of his neck just in time to save him from going headlong to the ground, quite fifty feet below.

She panted with fright as she lifted him to a place of safety with a little shake.

Rusty looked a trifle sulky, and mother gave him an affectionate pat to soothe him down.

Then she told us to follow her back along the branch, and she would show us how to climb up the trunk home again. She sent me first.

I had hardly reached the trunk end of the bough when I heard mother utter a cry which I had never heard her give before. It was a low sharp call. Oddly enough, I seemed to know exactly what it meant. At once I lay flat upon the bough, here quite thick enough to hide my small body, and crouched down, making myself as small as possible. At the same instant mother seized Rusty [4] by the scruff of his neck, and with one splendid leap sprang right up on to the wide, thick bough on the flat surface of which our home was built. In a few seconds she came back for me, and before I knew what was the matter I, too, was safe in the nest, alongside Rusty and my sister, little Hazel.

Mother gave a low note of warning that none of us should move or make any noise; and you may be sure we all obeyed, for something in her manner frightened us greatly. Presently we heard heavy footfalls down below rustling in the dry pine-needles. We sat closer than ever, hardly daring to breathe. The footsteps stopped just below our tree, and a loud rough voice, that made every nerve in my body quiver, shouted out something. From the sound of it we could tell that the speaker was peering right up between the boughs into our tree, and we knew without the slightest doubt he had discovered our drey. He must have spoken loud, even for a human, for his companion gave a sharp ‘S-s-sh!’ as if he were afraid that some one else might overhear and come down upon them. It could not have been of us he was afraid, for we, poor trembling, palpitating little things, lay huddled together, hardly daring to breathe.

The two tormentors turned away a few paces after a few lower-toned remarks, and I began to think they had gone, when——

Crash, a great jagged lump of stone came hurtling up within a yard of our home, frightening us all abominably.

Mother crouched with us closer than ever into our frail little house of sticks, which was not made to stand the force of stones.

Almost immediately there fell another mass of whizzing stone, even nearer than the first. It shore away a large tassel from the bough just overhead, and this fell right on the top of us, frightening Hazel so much that she jumped completely out of the nest, and, if mother had not been after her as quick as lightning, she must have fallen over the edge and probably tumbled right down to the ground and been killed at once. Even a squirrel, particularly a young one, cannot fall fifty feet in safety.

Mother saved her from this fate, but the mischief was done. The quick eyes of our enemies below had caught a glimpse of red fur among the pale green foliage, and they roared out in triumph, the louder and noisier making such a row, I thought that anyone within hearing must come rushing [6] to see what was the matter. Then they began disputing together, perhaps as to which of them should carry us away.

The two fellows down below argued like angry magpies for several minutes, and at last it was decided that the quieter one should do the climbing. I peeped over timidly and saw him throw off his coat, and drew back to make myself as small as possible. Presently I heard a bough creak, and then there followed a scraping and grinding as his heavy hobnailed boots clawed the trunk in an effort to reach the first branch. Once on that, he came up with dreadful rapidity. The boughs of the larch were so close together that even such a great clumsy animal, with his hind-paws all covered up with leather and iron, could climb it as easily as a ladder. We heard him coughing and making queer noises as the thick green dust, which always covers an old larch, got into his throat, and the little sharp dry twigs switched his face. But he kept on steadily, and soon he was only three or four branches below us, and making the whole top of the tree quiver and shake with his clumsy struggles. But as he got higher the branches were [7] thinner, and he stopped, evidently not daring to trust his weight to them, and called out something to his companion. All the answer he got was a jeering laugh, and this probably decided him, for, with a growl, he came on again. The tree really was thin up near our bough, at least for a great giant like this. The trunk itself bent, and the shaking was so tremendous that I began to think that our whole home would be jerked loose from its platform and go tumbling down in ruins with us inside it.

Suddenly the fellow’s great rough head was pushed up through the branches just below. His fat cheeks were crimson, and his hair all plastered down on his forehead with perspiration. I stared at him in a sort of horrible fascination. I could not have moved for the life of me, and, as Rusty and Hazel told me afterwards, they felt just the same. But mother kept her head. She was sitting up straight, with her bright black eyes fairly snapping with rage and excitement.

The man made a desperate scramble, and up came a large dirty paw and grasped the very branch on which we lived. This was too much for mother. Her fur fairly bristled as she made a sudden dash out of the nest by the entrance [8] nearest to the trunk, and went straight for that grasping fist. Next instant her sharp teeth met deep in his first finger. He gave one yell and let go. All his weight came on his other hand, there was a loud snap, and his large red face disappeared with startling suddenness.

For a moment our tree felt just as it does when a strong gust of wind catches and sways it. Our enemy, luckily for himself, had fallen upon a wide-spreading bough not far below, had caught hold of it, and so saved himself from a tumble right down to the bottom.

I heard his companion cry out in a frightened voice. For a moment there was no reply, and then a torrent of language so angry that I am sure no respectable squirrel would have used anything so bad even when talking to a weasel.

The man who had fallen was dancing about, holding his hand in his mouth, and taking it out to show his comrade. I watched him excitedly, hoping that now he had been hurt he would go away; but no, picking himself up he began again clumsily climbing up towards us. He came more slowly than before, trying each branch carefully before he put his weight on it. Presently I saw his furious face rising up again through the branches, [9] and now he had something shining and sharp, like a long tooth, clutched between his lips. I did not know then what a knife was, but I thought it looked particularly unpleasant. There was a nasty shine, too, in his pale blue eyes. I could feel my heart throbbing as if it would burst. Again his great ugly paw came clutching up at our bough. Fortunately he could not quite reach it. Having broken off the branch just below us, he had nothing to hold on to. However, he was so angry that there was no stopping him. He got his arms and legs round the trunk and began to swarm up.

It looked as if nothing could save us now. Mother herself was too frightened of that long gleaming tooth to try to bite our enemy again. She jumped out of the nest by the entrance on the far side, and did her best to persuade us to follow her out to the end of the branch where we had been having our jumping lessons. But we were much too frightened to move. We lay shivering in the moss at the bottom of the nest, and made ourselves as small as we knew how.

The man’s head was level with the bough; he was stretching out for a good hand-hold, when suddenly I heard the sharp clatter of a blackbird from the hedge at the border of the spinny, and [10] immediately afterwards the crash of dry twigs under a heavy boot.

A sharp hiss came from below in warning. Bill’s hand stopped in mid-air, just as I once saw a rabbit stop at the moment the shot struck it. His cheeks, which had been almost as red as my tail, went the colour of a sheep’s fleece. He listened for a moment, then suddenly dropped to the bough below, and began clambering down a good deal more quickly than he had come up.

We guessed it was the keeper, who had always left us alone, though we had often seen him about.

The steady tramp of his boots suddenly changed to a quick thud, thud; and when he saw the fellows at the tree, he gave a deep roar, just like the bull that lives in the meadow by the river when he gets angry. He came running along at a tremendous pace, making such a tramping among the leaves and pine-needles that the blackbird, though she had flown far away, started up again with a louder scream than ever.

The man on the ground did not wait. Deserting his companion, he made off at top speed. But old Crump, the keeper, knew better than to waste his time in catching him. He had seen the boughs shaking and he came straight for our tree, and [11] shouted triumphantly as he caught sight of the other one, who was by this time only a few boughs from the ground.

In his hurry and fright the fellow missed his hold. Next moment there was a tremendous thump, and a worse row even than when he had taken his first tumble.

I peeped out of the nest again more confidently, and I thought they were fighting. But what had happened was that the poacher had fallen right on the top of Crump’s head, flooring him completely, and, I should think, knocking all the breath out of him. Then, before the keeper, who was as fat as a dormouse, could gain his feet, the other had picked himself up and gone off full tilt after his friend.

The keeper growled and muttered to himself as he rose slowly. He picked up his gun and walked round the tree, looking up, evidently puzzled as to what the men had been after. Then he caught sight of us, and shook his head, as if he would have much liked to capture us himself He certainly could not have had any friendly feeling for us, as we bit the tips off his young larches. But he must have had orders to let us alone, for he did not attempt to molest us, and presently, to our [12] great relief, he too stumped off and left us undisturbed.

We lay very still for a long time, slowly getting over our fright. Suddenly mother gave a pleased little squeak and jumped out of the nest. I crawled out too, as boldly as you please, and looked down. Here came father running along over the thick brown carpet of pine-needles which covered the ground. I know some of you humans laugh at a squirrel on the ground. But it is not our fault that we do not look so well there as in our proper place—a tree. Why, even the swan, supposed to be the most graceful thing in the world, waddles in the clumsiest fashion imaginable when it is on dry land! At any rate, even over flat ground a squirrel can move at a good pace.

Father was lopping along with his fore-paws very wide apart, and stopping now and then to sniff or burrow a little among the pine and larch needles. In one place he evidently found something good—possibly a nice fat grub—for he stopped, sat up on his hind-legs, and, holding whatever it was in his fore-paws, began to nibble at it daintily. How handsome he looked sitting there, with his beautiful sharp ears cocked, his splendid brush hoisted straight up, and the rich, ruddy fur of his back [13] just touched by a stray gleam of sunshine, contrasting beautifully with the snowy whiteness of his waistcoat! It has always been my opinion that he was the handsomest squirrel I ever saw, and I was never more pleased in my life than when mother once told me that she thought I was more like him than any of her other children.

Mother called again. Father looked up, caught sight of her, gave a quick flick of his tail and an answering call. Next instant we heard the rattle of his claws on the rough bark, and almost before I could look round here he was with us.

He was full of good-humour, for he had been over to the beech copse, and the mast, he told us, was the finest crop he had seen for years. We must collect a good store as soon as it got ripe.

But he suddenly noticed that mother was quivering all over, and he had not time to ask what had upset her before she burst into an account of all the dreadful things that had happened that morning.

‘We must go,’ he said. ‘It means building a new house. And this tree has suited us so admirably. I do not think that I have ever seen a weasel near it; then, too, we are so capitally [14] sheltered from bad weather by all these thick evergreens. In any case I shall not leave the plantation, but I suppose we must look out for another tree. We cannot do anything to-day; it is too late. Now I will mount guard over the youngsters while you go and get some dinner.’

The heat of the day was over, but the sun was still warm. A little breeze was talking gently up in the murmurous tops of the trees, causing the shadows to sway and dance in dappled lights on the lower branches. You humans, who never go anywhere without stamping, and running, and talking loudly, and lighting pipes with crackly matches, have no idea what the real life of the woods is like, especially on a fine June afternoon such as this one was. Though our larch was one of a thick clump, yet from the great height of our nest we could see right across into the belt of oaks, beeches, and old thorn-trees which lay along the slope below, and could even catch a glimpse of the tall hedge and bank, and of the sandy turf beyond where the rabbit-warren lay.

One by one the rabbits lopped silently out of their burrows and began to feed till the close turf was almost as brown as green. Stupid fellows, [15] rabbits, I always think, but I like to watch them, especially when the young ones play, jumping over and over one another, or when some old buck, with a sudden idea that a fox or weasel is on the prowl, whacks the ground with one hind-leg, and then all scuttle helter-skelter back into their holes.

A pompous old cock pheasant came strutting down a ride in the young bracken, the sun shining full on his glossy plumage and black-barred tail. Presently his wife followed him, and behind her came a dozen chicks flitting noiselessly over the ground like so many small brown shadows. A pair of wood-pigeons were raising their second brood in a fir-tree, not far away from where we lived, and every now and then, with a rapid clatter of wings, one of the old birds came flapping through the aisles of the plantation with food for their two ugly, half-fledged young ones. I wonder, by the by, why a wood-pigeon is so amazingly careless about its nest building. I never can understand how it is that the young ones do not fall off the rough platform of sticks which is their apology for a nest. And it must be shockingly cold and draughty, too. Birds are supposed to be ahead of all other nest-builders, but I can tell you there are a good many besides the wood-pigeon who might [16] take a few pointers in architecture from us squirrels, to say nothing of our distant cousin the door-mouse.

A sharp rat-a-tat just behind startled me, and there was a big green woodpecker hanging on tight against the trunk of our own larch with his strong claws, and pounding the bark with his hammer-like beak. Father looked at him with interest.

‘Ah,’ he observed, ‘it’s about time we did move. The old tree must be getting rotten, or we shouldn’t have a visit from him.’

It was all most pleasant and peaceful as we sat there—Rusty, Hazel, and I—enjoying the gentle swinging in the soft west wind, and waiting for mother to come home.

It was a very fine summer, that one. I have never seen one like it since. We had very little rain and no storms for weeks on end, and the crops of mast and nuts were splendid.

But I am running ahead too fast. The very next day after our narrow escape from the two loafers, father set to work to make a new house in the fir-tree he had spoken of. Luckily for him, there was an old carrion crow’s nest handy in the top branches, and he got plenty of sticks out of this for the framework. Mother helped him to [17] gather some moss—nice dry stuff from the roots of a beech, and he made a tidy job of it within three days. Of course, he did not build so elaborately as if he had been constructing a winter nest—we squirrels never do. But all the same, he put a good water-tight roof over it.

Meantime mother had been keeping us youngsters hard at work with our climbing and jumping lessons. We all got on very well, and the day before we were to move she actually let me come down to the ground. It was the funniest feeling coming down so low, and at first I cannot say that I liked it. There was no spring in the earth, and one did not seem able to get a good hold for one’s claws. The pine-needles slipped away when one tried to jump. However, after the first novelty wore off, I enjoyed the new sensation hugely, and my joy was complete when mother showed me a little fat brown beetle which she said I might eat. I tried it, and really it might have been a nut, it was so crisp and plump.

Rusty and Hazel were sitting on a bough overhead, and as full of envy as ever they could be, for mother had said that she really could not have more than one of us at a time down among the dangers of the ground, and that I was the only [18] one quick enough to look after myself if anything happened.

My quickness was fated to be tested. While mother was scratching about the tree-roots, having a hunt for any stray nuts of last autumn’s store that might hitherto have been overlooked, I moved off to see if I could not discover another of those tasty beetles. At a little distance lay a great log, the slowly-rotting remains of a tall tree that had been torn up by the roots in some winter gale many years before, and was now half buried in the ground. On its far side was a perfect thicket of bracken, and a great bramble grew in the hollow where the roots of the tree had once been, and hid the fast decaying trunk. There was a curious earthy smell about the place which somehow attracted me. I know now that it was from a sort of fungus which grows in the rotten wood, and is quite good to eat, but at that time I was still too young to understand this. However, I went gaily grubbing about, and at last ventured on the very top of the log and pattered down it towards the trunk end. Near the butt was a hollow in the worm-eaten wood. The bramble was thick on all sides, but there was an opening above through which a patch of bright sunlight leaked down. In the [19] middle of this dry, warm cavity was a small coil of something of almost the same colour as the wood on which it lay. At first I took it for a twisted stick, but it attracted me strangely, and I gradually moved nearer. It was not until I came to the very edge of the hollow and sat up on my hind-legs that I suddenly became aware that the odd coil had a little diamond-shaped head, in which were set two beady eyes. There was a horrible cold, cruel look in those unwinking eyes which had a strange effect upon me. I turned cold and stiff, and felt as if, for the very life of me, I could not move. Suddenly a forked tongue flickered out, the dead coil took life, I saw the muscles ripple below the ashen skin. It was that movement which saved me. As the horrid head flashed forward, I leaped high into the air. The narrow head and two thin, keen fangs gleaming white passed less than my own length below me, and I fell into the thick of the bramble, the worst scared squirrel in the wood. How I scrambled out I have no idea, but in another instant I was scuttling back to my mother, full of my direful tale.

‘It was an adder,’ she said, shivering. ‘If it [20] had bitten you, you would have been dead before sunset. Keep close to me, Scud.’

The next day we moved into our new quarters in the fir-tree. Personally, I never liked a fir so well as most other trees. It is so dark and gloomy, and you get so little sun. My own preference has always been for a beech. An old beech has such delightful nooks and crannies, and often deep holes, sometimes deep and large enough to build a winter home in—always capital for the storage of nuts. There was no doubt, however, that the fir which father had chosen had many points to recommend it. It was an immensely tall tree, and thick as a hedge, yet there were no branches close to the ground to tempt evil-minded young humans like our recent invaders to climb up. What was still better, so cunningly had father chosen his site that it was quite impossible for any evil-minded, two-legged creatures to see us from below. Our nest was founded on a large, flat-topped branch close in to the thick red trunk, and only about two-thirds of the way up to the top. Another branch almost equally thick formed a roof over our heads, so that we were very snug and comfortable.

The day on which the great disaster befell us was wet in the early morning, and when the sun rose a thick, soft mist, white like cotton-wool, hung over the country-side. Not a breath of air was stirring, and it was so intensely still that it seemed as though one could hear everything that moved from one end of the wood to the other. The plop of a water-rat diving into a pool in the stream on the far side of the coppice came as clearly to my ears as though the water had been at the bottom of our own tree instead of several hundred yards away, and when the wood-pigeons began to move unseen in the smother, the clatter of their wings was positively startling.

We squirrel folk are not fond of wet, so we lay still and snug in our cosy retreat until the sun began to eat up the mist. Soon the grey smother thinned and sank, leaving the tree-tops bathed in brilliant light, every twig dripping with moisture, [22] and every drop sparkling with intense brilliance. Then we crept out one by one, and, sitting up straight upon our haunches, began our morning toilet. No other woodland creature is so careful and tidy in its habits as a squirrel, and mother had already thoroughly instructed us in the proper methods of using our paws as brushes and our tongues as sponges, and in making ourselves neat and smart as self-respecting, healthy squirrels should be.

Suddenly a peal of distant bells came clanging through the moist, calm air with such a vibrating note that they made us all start. Father sat up sharply, and mother asked him what was the matter.

He explained to us that he had learnt by experience that when those bells rang out it was a dangerous time for us, for all the mischievous boys and rough fellows in the neighbourhood seemed to appear in the woods, and the keeper was never seen. He did not know why this should be, but from long custom he had grown to be uneasy at the sound.

Mother shuddered sympathetically, and rubbed against him caressingly, with a movement that told him not to worry, and she reminded him consolingly [23] that even if our tormentors did take it into their heads to come into the wood they would not be likely to find us, since we had moved.

But father, instead of responding, suddenly pricked up his ears, and, signalling to us to be quiet, listened eagerly to some sound which the rest of us had not yet caught. For a moment he sat up straight, as still as though stuffed; then he turned and spoke sharply, with a warning sound that told us to lie as still as mice, for some danger was approaching.

Sure enough, a minute later we all heard the warning cry of a frightened blackbird, and immediately afterwards the brushing and trampling of a number of heavy boots through the wet grass and fern in the distance. At once we all stretched ourselves out tight as bark along the flat bough which formed the foundation of our nest, and lay there still as so many sleeping dormice.

The steps came rapidly nearer, and soon voices sounded plainly through the hush of the quiet wood. Imagine how I shuddered when I recognized the coarse tones of our former enemies mixed with others equally harsh and unpleasant! They were making straight for our part of the wood.

Shaking though I was in every limb, curiosity drove me to peep cautiously over the edge of the bough. The mist was all gone now, and there, below the tall larch-tree which had been our old home and the scene of our recent narrow escape, stood four young louts, our old enemies and two others about the same size and age, all craning their necks and staring upwards through the thick, pale-green branches. Each was carrying in his right hand a short, flexible stick with a heavy head. These were not long enough for walking-sticks, such as Crump, the keeper, and other humans who sometimes came through the wood carried; and, in spite of my fright, I wondered greatly what they were for. Alas! it was not long before I learnt the terrible powers of the cruel ‘squailer.’

After a good deal of argument and dispute one of the new-comers swung himself up on to the lowest bough. He climbed far better and faster than the one who had tried before, and in a very short time had reached a bough close below our old drey.

By this time I was getting over my fright a little. I turned to Rusty, who was next me.

‘What a sell for them when they find no one at home!’ I whispered in his ear.

The bough which had been broken before stopped the climber for a few moments, but presently he managed to swarm up the trunk and seat himself astride of the very branch upon which our former home was founded.

They shouted to him from below to be careful. The fellow in the tree paid no heed, but, clutching the trunk with one hand to steady himself, boldly thrust the other into the nest. There was a sharp exclamation of disgust; and he cried out furiously that there was nothing there.

They were all in great excitement, and kept urging him to look further and to make sure we weren’t hiding. He felt in every crevice of the nest, and peered about in the boughs, and then, having evidently made up his mind we had really gone, prepared to descend.

But the others called to him to look again, so, steadying himself once more upon the bough, he peered upward. Then he solemnly declared, shaking his head, that there was nothing in the tree. To prove it, with a sweep of his great red paw, he carelessly ripped our old home from its perch and sent it tumbling to the ground. I heard [26] mother give a little gasp as she saw destroyed in an instant the results of so many hours of careful and loving toil; but my own thoughts and eyes were so concentrated upon the invader of our rightful domain that I am afraid I hardly considered her injured feelings. Still they would not allow him to come down; and now came in a very real danger. From the ground it would have been quite impossible for them to spy us out in our new quarters, but up the tree this fellow was on a level with us, and had only to get a clear look between the boughs to spy our little red bodies, which, however much we crouched together, made a considerable ball of fur.

Climbing to his feet, he stood upright on the bough, clinging with one arm to the trunk. It was this movement which proved our undoing. Standing thus, his head was clear of the dwindling foliage near the spire-like summit of the larch, and from his lofty perch his eye commanded the tree-tops in the neighbourhood. A moment later his gaze fell upon us, five small scared balls of red fur, and his roar of triumph struck terror to our quaking hearts.

Without paying the slightest attention to the shouted questions of his friends below, he swung [27] himself down hand over hand, and in a very short time had dropped to the ground, and was running across towards our fir-tree, with the others yelping at his heels like a pack of harriers after a hare.

Mother and father exchanged a few hurried words, but what they said I in my excitement had not the faintest idea. Next moment father had me by the scruff of the neck, and darted away up into the thick and almost impenetrable top of the giant fir. Mother, with Hazel between her teeth, came after him like a flash.

The fir-trunk forked near the summit; it was to this point that father carried me, and dropped me in the niche between the two boughs. Instantly he was off again to fetch Rusty. Before our enemies had noticed what was happening, and while they were still arguing as to which of them should do the climbing, all we three youngsters had been deposited together in our lofty refuge.

A scuffling noise and the sound of heavy breathing came from below. One of the gang had begun the ascent of the tree. Mother looked at father in a sort of dumb agony. She was palpitating with fright, and her dark eyes were large and brilliant with terror.

But father knew better, and signified, ‘No.’ They two might have done it themselves, but carrying us the jump would be too long to risk.

From far below the bumping, scuffling noise slowly grew louder and nearer. It was a long way up to the first bough of the fir-tree, and the climber—it was the same one again—was obliged to swarm the scaly red trunk. We could not, of course, see anything of him, for the matted tangle of crooked branches below, with their foliage of thick, dark green needles, formed an impenetrable screen.

I cannot even now remember that long wait in the sunny tree-top, while ever from below the unseen danger crept upon us, without an unpleasant thrill, and I know that both my brother and my sister shared my feelings. The worst part of it all was the sight of the terror of our father, who had always been to us a pattern of bravery. The fact was that he realized the position, which we younger ones did not do fully. He was only too well aware that we were trapped. He and mother might have easily escaped by descending to the longer branches below, and thence jumping into a spruce which [29] grew close by; but they would not desert us, and both remained clinging tightly to the main trunk just beside us.

The hollow in which my brother and sister and I were placed gave us complete shelter from below, but there was only just room for the three of us. Father and mother were forced to expose themselves. The fir was, as I have said before, a very large tree—quite seventy feet high—old, thick, and gnarled, and the boughs were of considerable thickness near to its very summit. Father no doubt understood that our bulky enemy would, if he had the pluck, be able to pursue us right up to our lofty perch, and was aware of our almost hopeless position.

Slowly, very slowly, our persecutor came upwards. The branches, once he was among them, were so close and thick that he evidently found it difficult to force his way between them. Every now and then he would stop and puff and blow; then the creaking of large boughs and the cracking of small twigs announced a fresh effort on his part.

At last he was only separated from our second nest by a very small interval. Yet he had not discovered it was empty. The others kept yelling out questions to him, but he made no reply, only [30] forced his way through the tree, which, I am bound to say, was very thick indeed.

More scrambling. Then he caught sight of the nest and redoubled his efforts. But when he was nearly up to it he reached up his arm, and without the slightest fear that he might be bitten as his companion had been, thrust his huge hand into it. The result was a savage exclamation. Angrily he seized the empty nest, tore it out, and sent it flying down as he had done the other.

By this time the others were a little tired of waiting, and began to scatter out from the tree to try to spy us themselves. Common sense must have told them that we had only left the nest when we heard them, and could not be far, and that we could probably be seen somewhere in the surrounding boughs. A few moments’ suspense, and then the awful warning shout again told us we were discovered. The man was still in the tree, though some way below, and by pointing and gesticulations they directed him where to go to find us. So he came panting up again, the thinner branches swaying and rustling beneath his weight. After a very few moments his head appeared in the greenery below. He was of a different type from the others, taller, black-haired, [31] and sallow-faced. It did not take him many seconds to see us, and he quickly pulled himself up towards us.

With his eyes fixed on mother, he came rapidly upwards. Mother crouched where she was on a small branch, very close to the extreme summit of the tree, watching our enemy’s every movement. By a lucky chance the main stem hid us three youngsters from his sight. I think that father and mother must have purposely placed themselves on the other side from us with the express object of drawing the boy’s attention away from their helpless babies.

When he drew near he paused, and pulling a red cotton handkerchief from his pocket, deliberately wrapped it round one hand. Then, getting a good grip with the other, he edged outwards and made a sudden rapid grasp at mother. My heart almost stopped as I saw the great hand extended. But quick as he was, no human can hope to rival the lightning action of a squirrel’s muscles, and before the grasping hand touched her the little lithe red body flew into the air as though driven by a spring, and, flashing downwards, landed fully twenty feet below, and disappeared into the thickest part of the tree.

With a violent exclamation the tormentor turned his attention to father, who was only a foot or two further away, and crouching on the extreme outer end of a bough. Evidently he intended to make sure of him, for he worked himself round so as to get between father and the tree, and managed it so well that he seemed to me to have cut off all chance of escape. I think he must have actually touched father’s tail, when the most unexpected thing happened. Instead of jumping outwards, which, as the bough tip projected a good way, would in all probability have ended in a fall to the ground, into the very hands of the three watchers below, father leaped straight towards the boy, landing actually on his shoulder. This startled him so much that he very nearly let go altogether, and if I had not been in such a panic I could have laughed at his fright. Then, before the boy could recover himself, another quick bound, and father was out on another branch, ten feet away, quite out of reach of his would-be captor.

A torrent of language worse than any magpie’s burst from the fellow’s lips, as he turned and scrambled after father again. He might as well have tried to catch a will-o’-the-wisp. Every [33] time he got near enough to make a snatch, father would make another nimble jump, all the time artfully luring his pursuer lower down the tree and away from our hiding-place.

The game went on for a good ten minutes, and by the end of that time the enemy was dripping with perspiration and speechless with fury. His rage was increased by the jeers of his friends below. At last he gave it up, having made up his mind it was not much of a game to be made a fool of by a squirrel and mocked by the onlookers.

He dropped quickly from bough to bough, and presently I heard his heavy boots thud on the ground. But before he had reached the foot of the tree, both our parents were back with us. Then the sound of loud wrangling came up to us. Surely now they would go; but no! we were not safe yet.

There was further talk, and then the whole four spread out in a circle round the fir-tree. Presently, with a loud whizzing sound, some heavy object came hurtling up past us. It struck a twig near the summit of the tree and clipped it like a bullet. Thud! Another struck the main stem just below us with a force that sent the bark [34] flying in a shower. Then we saw what those lead-weighted canes were for.

A third squailer passed only a few inches above father’s head. He called to mother:

In an instant he had snatched me up and was scuttling down the trunk. It was wonderful how exactly he knew which branch-end stretched furthest towards the spruce which was our next neighbour. Out along it he ran, and using the natural spring of the bough to help him, made a gallant leap outwards and downwards, legs and tail wide spread to assist him in his flight.

The air hissed past my ears, and then with a little thud we landed safely in the spruce. But his gallant jump had been seen by those greedy eyes, and excited shouts came from below.

Then—ah, even now I can hardly bear to speak of it! As father was in the very act of running up the branch towards the thick centre of the tree and comparative safety, there came a cruel thud, and he and I together were whirling through the air.

Crash! we came to the ground with a shock that knocked my small senses out of me, and before [35] I could pick myself up a hard hand had closed over me. I turned and, with the instinct of despair, fixed my teeth deep in a horny finger. There was a yell, and I was again flung to the ground with a force that almost killed me. I knew no more for many minutes, and when I woke again to stunned and aching misery, I was lying helpless in a sort of bag, which smelt horribly of something which I now know to have been tobacco. The bag was being shaken up and down with a steady swing; but I, almost beside myself with pain and flight, did not attempt to move or free myself.

Suddenly the motion stopped abruptly, and the hand was poked cautiously into the bag. It was carefully protected this time by a handkerchief, but I had no longer spirit left to bite. Out I was pulled and held up before the gaze of all the four robbers, who were seated at ease on a mossy bank on the outer side of the hedge close by the gate of our coppice. The very first thing that my eyes fell upon was the body of my poor father lying limp upon the bank, his white waistcoat dabbled with crimson stains and his brilliant black eyes closed in death. I felt a cold shiver run through me, and the stupor of despair clutched my beating heart. I hardly even had strength left to wonder what [36] had become of my dear mother and my brother and sister.

They passed me from one coarse hot hand to another, and their voices grew louder and louder as they disputed who should have possession of me.

They then went on to blows, when suddenly the quarrel was brought to an abrupt end in a most startling fashion.

Leaping over the hedge out of the coppice behind came two tall, smart-looking boys, a startling contrast to the four loutish hobbledehoys around poor little me.

One of them, pointing at me, demanded in a ringing voice where they had got me from.

Three of the four cads stood sheepishly regarding the new-comers, and said never a word; but the one who had climbed the tree faced them boldly enough, answering impudently.

The new-comer strode up to him. He was evidently master here, and the others were trespassing, and they knew it, for they slunk back. Yet, in reply to his reiterated commands, the lout who was boldest snatched me up and refused to part with me. He was so big and strong that he seemed a giant, and I felt I should die there and then. I closed my eyes and gave myself up, [37] but in a minute I was down on the bank once more, and the two—the new-comer and the great rough fellow—were fighting hard, with coats off and red faces.

The sound of the blows that followed, the tramping of feet, the hard breathing of the combatants, nearly deprived me of the few senses that remained to me, and I noticed little of the details of the fight—only it seemed to last a long time, and once I saw the schoolboy flat on his back. But he was up almost as soon as down, and they were at it again hammer and tongs.

The giant made a rush head down, like a bull, but the other jumped back, and there followed a rattle of blows as my champion’s fists got home on the lout’s hard head. But the squire’s son did not wholly escape. The huge fist that had grasped me so roughly caught him on the right cheek and drove him back.

One of my champion’s eyes was closing, his right cheek was turning livid, and there was blood on his broad white collar when they faced one another again. But the ruffian for his part, though not so badly marked, was breathing like a fat pug dog and seemed unsteady on his legs. To do the fellow justice, he had pluck, for he wasted no time [38] in making a last attempt to rush his opponent. For a few moments it was all that the other could do to guard his head against the swinging fists. Then—it was all so quick that one could hardly see what happened—there was a crack like the sound two rams make when they charge one another, and the giant tottered for a moment, his arms waving wildly, then fell like a log and lay quite still.

The other new-comer counted loud and slowly ‘One—two—three—four’—up to ten. But the fellow on the ground did not move.

He turned to where I lay, with hardly a breath in me, a little limp body, and picking me up, handled me tenderly.

Terrified as I was, the change was grateful to my miserable, aching little body. He offered me to the victor in the fight, who had by this time got into his coat again, but he declined.

‘Put him in your pocket, Harry,’ he said to his brother. ‘My hands are too hot to hold him.’

He was quite right. Let me here give a word of advice to all those humans who keep any of my race as pets. Don’t hold us in your hands. In the first place, it frightens us desperately, and in the [39] second, it is bad for us. A squirrel rarely lives long in captivity if he is constantly handled. I speak from experience, and I can assure you that, much as I grew to love my dear master and my other human friends, I was never happy in their hands, though I never minded being kept in their pockets.

Harry put me carefully in the inside pocket of his jacket. It was dark and warm, and, utterly exhausted, I curled up and lay quiet, and so I was carried away and left the home of my babyhood. It was long before I saw it again.

I was aroused from a sort of stupor between sleep and exhaustion by being picked out of my snug retreat and held up for inspection before a third person, a sweet-faced lady, whom I afterwards came to know well and love as the mother of my dear master, Jack Fortescue, and his brother Harry.

She looked at me pitifully when her son had quickly explained the events of the morning. Her fingers were long and slim and cool, and, poor limp little rag that I was, I never offered the slightest resistance to her gentle grasp. She took me straight through a side door into a long, low, shady building with wood-lined walls, and in a minute or two I was placed in a nest of soft hay in a good-sized box covered in front with close wire-netting. Too worn out to trouble my head about the amazing and perplexing change in my circumstances, I simply curled up with my tail over my nose and went sound asleep.

It was Jack who woke me. I must have been asleep for a long time, for now the sun was pouring in through the western windows. The first thing I realized was that I was desperately hungry, and that the little saucer which the boy had pushed gently into the cage had a most appetizing odour. But my sleep had given me fresh life and strength, and quiet as his movements were, I remember that I was desperately frightened, and cowered down, shivering, burrowing close in the hay.

Jack seemed to understand perfectly, for he closed the door again very softly and moved away. Presently the silence restored my confidence a little, and I ventured to peep out. The saucer was quite close to my nose, and, hunger overpowering my fright, I crawled up and tasted the mixture. It was bread and milk, soft and well cooked. I finished it very rapidly, and then, feeling much refreshed, went to sleep for a second time.

Once again before dark Jack came and fed me, and this time brought me a couple of ready cracked nuts, as well as the bread and milk.

Well fed and cared for as I was, I shall never forget the misery of that first night. I don’t suppose that at that very early age I actually remembered much of what had happened during [42] the past eventful day. What I did feel was a sort of horror of loneliness. Instead of the whole five of us snuggling warmly together in our well-lined drey, I was here in this box, which was many times larger than our nest, absolutely alone. Every time I went to sleep I would wake up again with a start, vaguely feeling round for my mother and the rest, and shivering miserably in my unaccustomed solitude.

At last morning came, and it was hardly broad daylight before Jack arrived in his nightshirt and carried me off, cage and all, to his bedroom, where he put me on the window-ledge in the sun and offered me nuts. At first I was much alarmed; but he was so gentle that I gradually got over my terror, and sat up and nibbled the nuts fairly happily.

I will pass over the next few days. My new master fed me assiduously, and very soon I lost all fear of him, and the minute I saw him would make for the door of my comfortable little prison, and wait eagerly for the dainties which were sure to be forthcoming. Every morning he changed my bed and gave me fresh hay, which makes far the best bedding for any of our tribe. During the day my cage was brought down into the bowling-alley, [43] where several other pets were kept, and at night Jack took me up to his room, so that I might not be frightened by servants dusting in the morning.

At last there came a morning when Jack’s hand, instead of offering me the usual nut, gently grasped me. Frightened, I turned at once and bit him sharply. I don’t suppose my small teeth did much damage, for he only laughed, and, lifting me right out of the cage, placed me on his bed. The white counterpane was so very different from anything which I had ever felt under my claws before, that at first I was too much surprised to move, and remained perfectly still. Presently, however, Jack popped a nut down in front of me. That, at any rate, I understood, so I sat up on my hind-quarters, cracked it, and, first carefully removing the brown skin from the kernel, made short work of the dainty.

Hoping for more, I gained confidence and proceeded to explore. First I caught my claws in the little projecting tufts of the counterpane, and heard Jack laughing gently as I shook myself impatiently free, giving a little squeak of disgust. Presently I discovered a cavity that looked dark and inviting. You know a squirrel’s besetting sin is curiosity. He always wants to know the ins and outs of [44] everything. Any object which he has not seen before fascinates him, and I am afraid to say how many of my friends have paid for their inquisitiveness by getting into serious trouble. So I crawled down, and finding it delightfully warm and dark, made my way under the clothes to the very foot of the bed, where, as I was very comfortable, I went sound asleep.

On the next morning my master turned me loose again, this time on the floor, and after a fresh access of timidity I again found nuts. There were more than I wanted, so, obeying a natural instinct, I ate what I could, and hid the rest in various convenient receptacles.

Soon I began to look forward to my daily outing, and took great delight in exploring every corner of the room. I well recollect what a shock I got the first time I reached the window-sill. Outside was a great elm-tree, whose branches reached within a few yards of the window, and the sight of the green leaves waving gently in the early morning breeze roused in me strange longings. I made one jump, and striking full against the glass, fell back half stunned and terrified almost out of my wits at the strange transparent barrier. Jack picked me up at once, and placed me safe in the [45] darkness and warmth under the bedclothes, where I had time to recover from my fright.

Soon he took to letting me out at bedtime, and I had a grand scamper before the light was put out. The window-curtains were my favourite resort. They were so easy to climb, and had such splendid folds and crannies for hiding nuts in. I would race across the curtain-pole, rattling the rings as I went, down the other curtain, round the room full tilt, and finish up with a good hunt in all the corners for nuts which I had concealed the day before and forgotten all about. I rarely went back to my cage to sleep, though it was always open and ready for me. A fold in the window-curtain was my usual place of repose, and another pet perch was an old band-box on the top of the wardrobe. It was half full of tissue paper, which possessed a strange fascination for my young mind. I tore it all up fine with my sharp teeth, and made a most delicious nest with the bits.

When the night was chilly I generally snuggled under Jack’s bedclothes, and always, first thing in the morning, so soon as daylight came, I would make for the bed, and working my way gently down between the sheets, curl up close against Jack’s toes. Sometimes he was so sleepy that he [46] would not wake up and play when I wanted him to; then I would emerge on to the pillow and gently nibble the tip of his nose.

This never failed. ‘Confound you, Nipper!’ (he always called me Nipper), he would mutter drowsily, and then make a lazy grab, which I always eluded with the greatest ease, and with two bounds would land on the end of the bedstead, and, perched there, scold him until he sat up and threw a sock at me.

He was never rough, and never lost his temper with me, although I am sure that I was aggravating enough at times. It must have been trying when he pulled on his boots in a hurry and found a couple of nuts wedged tight in each toe. I do not think that a boy and a squirrel ever became better chums. We were simply devoted to one another. The only dull times for me were when Jack and Harry were busy with their tutor, during which hours I was usually in my box in the bowling-alley.

There, as I think I mentioned before, the Fortescue boys kept several other pets. There was a large white cockatoo with a lemon crest, named Joey, which frightened and puzzled me horribly until I came to understand its odd faculty [47] of imitating every person and animal about the place. It would ‘miaouw’ like a cat, a most disturbing sound, for every squirrel hates cats next to hawks and weasels; would bark so realistically that Mrs. Fortescue’s white Pomeranian was always stirred up to reply, and the two would go on and on, the wily old bird always starting up afresh whenever the dog stopped, until poor Pom nearly had a fit and grew quite hoarse. I shall never forget the first time he imitated me to my face. It gave me a most severe shock, for he did it so well that for a moment I believed that one of my relations was actually in the room. One thing I liked him for: he was devoted to Jack, and invariably bade him a grave ‘good morning’ when he brought my cage down before breakfast. He lived on a perch, to which he was chained by one leg, and up and down this he would sidle by the hour, with one eye cocked for mischief. Sometimes, when all was quiet, he would talk to himself in a language quite unlike that which my master and his family used. The boys said it was some African lingo which Joey had learnt ages ago in his native land. Altogether a most uncanny bird!

Harry had a number of pet mice in wire cages. [48] They were not the least atom like any of the mice I had ever seen in the wood. These were of the queerest colours—piebald—and some of them had marks on their backs just the shape of a saddle. Uninteresting I called them, but Harry was very fond of them, and used to take them out and let them run all over him.

In the darkest corner of the long, low room was the one creature that, from the first moment I saw it, interested me more than all the others put together. All day long it lay hidden in its hay bed and never moved, but slept quietly as a dormouse in its winter nest. In fact, I never set eyes on it at all until one night in August, when the evenings had begun to draw in and I happened to be left a little later than usual in the bowling-alley. No sooner had the room become dusk than I heard from the tiny cage a little twittering, more like a young bird’s voice than anything else, and presently caught sight of a dainty little head poked out of the hay, with two of the largest, most liquid black eyes I ever saw. I gazed in wonder, for the animal was so like myself that I felt sure it was a squirrel, though I had never dreamed that any squirrel existed so tiny as this.

‘Hulloa!’ cried Harry, ‘Lops is awake. Bring Nipper to have a look at him, Jack.’

Jack took me out of my cage, and I jumped as usual on to his shoulder and nibbled his ear by way of a kiss. He walked across to the other cage and set me down in front of it.

‘Mr. Lops,’ he said with mock gravity, ‘allow me to introduce Mr. Nipper. This is a small cousin of yours, Nipper, and he comes from Mexico. As you see yourself, he’s a sad character—sleeps all day and only wakes up at night.’

I was so lost in surprise that I sat quite still, gazing through the fine wire mesh at my new acquaintance. I have always had a fairly good opinion of my own looks, as every well-bred squirrel should have, but, upon my word, he put me out of all conceit with myself. He was the tiniest, daintiest, quaintest creature I ever set eyes on. No bright red about him, but though his coat was darker and greyer than mine, it was as soft as fine velvet, and beautifully groomed. His head was perfectly shaped, his ears pricked like my own, and his eyes very large and amazingly bright. But the oddest thing about him were the folds of loose skin which extended in a thin membrane from all his four legs back to his body. When he jumped from [50] the upper, story of his cage to the lower, they spread out almost like the wings of a bat; but when he was sitting still, they folded up so that they did not in the least spoil his beautiful shape. I must say that I felt quite envious, for I thoroughly understood that a squirrel built like that could jump ever so much further than I or any of my family could. We English squirrels can, at a pinch, clear as much as three yards in a straight line. We always spread our legs wide when we jump as well as keeping our tails stretched straight out, and that is why we can leap from great heights and reach the ground unhurt, for we drop parachute fashion. But as for these American cousins of ours, the flying squirrels, they can jump from the top of one tree, and sliding through the air like a soaring hawk, reach another tree fifty feet or more away at a height from the ground only slightly less than that of their starting-point.

Lops—which Jack said was short for Nyctalops, or ‘seer by night’—and I had many a chat afterwards. He told me of his old home in sunny Mexico, not a nest such as I was born in, but a cavity in the trunk of a vast live oak or ilex, from whose boughs long weepers of grey Spanish moss trailed towards the brown palmetto-stained water [51] below; of the hot sun and of the furious tropical storms which lashed the deep river into white foam; of the paroquets, with their brilliant plumage of green and red and blue, which screamed harshly among the upper branches at dawn; of the rusty-hued water-vipers which coiled sluggishly on the steaming mud in summer. He told, too, of the perils from great hawks three times as large as any we know in England, from long, thin tree-snakes wrapped unseen round the branches; and I shuddered when he talked of fierce wild-cats as much at home among the tree-tops as on the ground. It must have been a wonderful country and a wonderful life, so different from our northern island as to be almost beyond my imagination to picture it. All day the land slept breathless beneath the blazing sun, with nothing moving except the birds, the fox-squirrels, and the lizards; and during those hours Lops and his family slept in the dark recesses of their wood-walled fortress; but when the sun set the forest woke to life. Deer came down to the river to drink; peccaries rooted in droves among the bases of the mighty trees; sometimes a great bear came prowling along, uttering now and then a deep ‘woof’ when any unaccustomed sound disturbed him. Up above opossums and [52] racoons moved silently to and fro among the tree-tops; great owls whirled on soft wings, hooting dismally; while all night long—especially in the hot season—the endless chirr of crickets, the pipe of tree-frogs and the deep booming of bull-frogs filled the air with a never-ending concert. Other sounds there were, rarer, but far more terrifying. Enormous bull-alligators, floating like logs with only their gnarled heads and the ridges of their rugged backs above the water, would bellow with a roar that shook the forest; or, again, from some hidden recess of the deepest woods the blood-curdling shriek of the tawny puma would ring hideously through the night.

Poor Lops! Though cared for as few pets are—fed with dainty pecan-nuts and other delicacies from his far-off home across the ocean, and though he loved his mistress Mabel, Jack’s sister, devotedly—yet he was never happy as I was. The damp and cold of our climate oppressed him, and most of his time he spent curled up tightly among the soft bedding of his cage. Then, too, he was a creature of the night, and it was only after dark that he would wake and want to play—and at that time, except for an hour or two, there was no one to play with. I felt very sorry for him, and so, too, were [53] Mabel and the boys. I am sure that if they could they would have set him free again among the great tropical forests that he loved so well, and always mourned for, though only I knew how deeply.

As for me, life ran most pleasantly. I grew plump on the good food I was supplied with. My coat became long and sleek, and my tail, which had been a mere furry appendage like that of a little colt, grew into a glorious brush of richest red-brown, long enough and thick enough to cover me completely when I curled up to sleep. Jack was very proud of my looks, and used to groom me all over with a little brush—a process which I soon grew very fond of. We two came to understand one another most marvellously. I could always tell him what I wanted, whether it was food, or a game, or to be allowed to creep into his coat-pocket and go to sleep there.

One day he opened my cage, slipped me into his pocket, and walked off, and when he took me out again I was out of doors once more!

I cannot tell you how it affected me. You know, we wild creatures—born wild, I mean—never quite forget our rightful heritage of freedom, and here, for the first time for many weeks, I found myself out in the open.

Jack was seated on a wooden bench under a clump of evergreen shrubs in the midst of a great expanse of smooth-shaven lawn. It was August now, and the sun poured down hotter than ever it had been in those June days in the wood. Big bumble-bees droned lazily by; a robin was perched on the bare ground at the foot of an arbor vitæ , cocking a soft round eye at us; all the subtle, fascinating odours of summer were in my nostrils. I gave one spring from his knee on to the back of the bench, and sat there, head high, snuffing the sweet air, and quivering all over with excitement. Jack never moved, and for the moment he passed completely out of my remembrance. My brain was crammed to bursting with half-forgotten instincts and remembrances which crowded in upon me.

So I sat for perhaps half a minute; then a little breath of summer breeze swayed a bough above me, and on the impulse I sprang. Oh, the delight of feeling it yield and swing beneath me! I darted inwards to the trunk, and with one clattering dash was up at its slender summit twenty feet above the turf gazing round in wild delight. When the first ecstasy had worn off, I set myself to explore, and, clambering down a little, jumped into the next [55] tree. So for many minutes I exercised my new-found powers, taking longer and longer leaps, and enjoying myself to the top of my bent.

But the clump of shrubs was small, and soon I had exhausted its resources in the way of jumps. I looked around, and a little way off was a giant elm. Ah! that would give more scope; and with my head full of its possibilities, I turned and came down head foremost. Then, and not till then, did my eyes fall upon my master, who sat where I had left him, still as ever. He looked at me, but I would not heed, and dashed off across the lawn.

‘Hulloa, Jack! what price Nipper?’ came Harry’s voice from a distance. ‘You’ll never see him again.’

With a rattle of claws on rough bark I was up the elm like a flash, and, half crazy with joy, went leaping and corkscrewing round and round, sending a couple of tree-creepers off in a terrible fright. I think they must have taken me for a cat. I played for a long time, and still Jack sat on the bench. He seemed to be deep in a book, and after a time I got quite cross at his apparent lack of interest in my proceedings. It was getting late, [56] and the trees threw long, dark shadows across the lawn. The breeze had died down, and, except for the chirping of sparrows in the ivy and the low whistle of some starlings in the distance, all was very still. A sense of loneliness began to oppress me, and at last I came creeping down, and, reaching the lower branch, once more looked across towards my master.

‘Nipper!’ he called softly; and in a trice I was on the ground and lopping across towards him.

Suddenly, and without the slightest warning, there was a sharp ‘yap-yap,’ and a dirty white-and-tan beast rushed out of the shrubbery behind me. On the instant I was running for dear life.

I saw Jack bound to his feet and come tearing across towards me. But instead of running straight to him, I made for the nearest tree—a small ornamental evergreen. The dog—it was the gardener’s terrier—wheeled, and was after me like a shot. He was travelling nearly twice as fast as I, and his feet were drumming so close behind me that it seemed nothing could save me. Each instant I expected to feel those snapping teeth close upon me.

There was a sudden crash, and the sharp ‘yap-yap,’ changed to a terrified howl. Jack had hurled his [57] book with all his might and with such good aim that the dog, hit full in the side, had been bowled completely over, giving me time to gain the shrub and safety.

‘Poor old Nipper!’ said Jack softly, as he picked me shivering out of the little tree and stowed me safely inside the breast of his coat. ‘We won’t run any more risks of that sort, will we, old chap?’

Indeed, the fright was so severe that I did not get over it for some time. It gave me a good lesson, and the next time my master let me out I did not venture far from him.

Soon after this I had another adventure which came very near to closing my career abruptly. One dull rainy morning I was loose as usual in Jack’s bedroom. Just as he had almost finished dressing, his brother, whose room was on the same floor, opened the door and called to my master to come and help him to find one of his mice which had got loose and disappeared. Jack ran out, carefully closing the door behind him, and leaving me to play by myself. A few minutes afterwards one of the maids, thinking no doubt that Jack had finished dressing and had gone down to his early morning lesson with his tutor, came in to turn the bed down and tidy up. She never saw me, and I [58] paid no attention to her, for I was busy under the dressing-table with some nuts.

It was some minutes after she had gone away that I became conscious of an animal moving softly about the room, and a spasm of terror seized me, for though I could not see it owing to the hangings of the dressing-table, instinct—that sixth sense which informs us of danger—gave me warning of desperate peril.

Crouching back as near to the wall as possible, I lay there absolutely still, listening with beating heart to the almost noiseless footsteps which came gradually nearer and nearer. I could tell by the soft snuffing that the animal scented me, and terror almost paralysed me. Closer and even closer came the creature, and presently the hangings of the table rustled, and as they were pushed aside a whiskered head appeared, and two eyes that glowed luminous green in the dim light glared upon me. Stiffened in my corner I watched the cat crouch for a spring, her gleaming eyes fixed greedily upon me, while her tail waving quickly from side to side, made a soft tattoo on the carpet. Those cruel green eyes absolutely fascinated me, and for the moment I could not have moved even to save my life.

Suddenly came a loud crash. The door left open by the maid had blown to in the strong draught from the open window. The noise startled the cat almost as much as it did me, and for the moment she took her eyes off me. The spell was broken and I ran for dear life. As I passed under the hangings and out into the open I heard her heavier, larger body strike the very spot where I been crouching, and with another spring she came out from under the table and landed barely her own length behind me. One wild bound to the right and I was inside the fender; another, and my enemy’s outstretched paw actually grazed my tail as I bolted clean up the chimney, and a snarl of disappointed rage gave me the glad tidings that I was for the moment safe.

It was lucky, indeed, for me that the chimneys of the Hall were of the wide, old-fashioned brick type unprovided with dampers. Had it not been so, and had my refuge been the modern, narrow, perpendicular form of grate, it is certain that I should never have been alive now. As it was, the worn, old brickwork gave me footing of a kind, and I never stopped until I had reached the chimney-pot, which barred further progress. The soot nearly choked me, and made me cough and [60] sneeze violently. My foothold was most precarious and I was in deadly terror that I might slip and go tumbling right back into the jaws of my enemy. Indeed, I have rarely spent a worse quarter of an hour than I did then.

Suddenly I heard the door below open. Sounds came to me almost as clearly as if I had been in the room.

‘Why, where on earth has he got to?’ my master continued in a surprised tone, and then I heard him moving about the room looking for me.

The cat, no doubt, had taken refuge under the dressing-table again when she heard the door open, for she knew as well as possible that she had no right in the bedrooms, her proper place being the kitchen. There was a rustle as Jack raised the hangings, and then he saw her.

For the moment there is no doubt but that he thought she had killed and eaten me, and grief and fury possessed him. I heard a smothered squawk of terror, and even in my plight rejoiced that my enemy was feeling a little of the fright she had given me. Then there was a crash. Jack had flung the beast clean out of the window into the [61] elm opposite. I heard him go to the door again, and there was something in his voice as he shouted to his brother to come that made me shiver all over, but not with fright.

Harry came rushing into the room, and I am bound to say his voice was almost as queer as that of my master.

I was recovering slowly from my terror, and the sound of Jack’s voice was giving me confidence. Also my present refuge was horribly uncomfortable, and the black soot making me feel perfectly miserable, so I turned with the intention of making my way downwards again. You know we squirrels always descend head foremost, holding on with our hind-claws. But I had hardly begun my descent when a bit of hardened soot or plaster gave way beneath me. I made a desperate but quite useless effort to recover myself, and next thing I was sliding helplessly down the steep slope at a pace which increased with every foot I fell.

Thud! And I landed in the grate amid a perfect avalanche of soot. Jack, who was sitting on the bed looking more miserable than I had ever seen him before, sprang to his feet as if electrified, and cleared the intervening space with a bound.

‘Nipper, Nipper, is it you?’ he shouted, and [62] regardless of his smart, clean flannel suit picked me up and positively hugged me in a transport of delight. Then he examined me all over to make sure that I was not hurt, and after that I was only too glad to be allowed to crawl into his pocket and feel that there, at any rate, I was safe.

The worst of it came after breakfast, for I was too filthy to be able to clean myself. Such a miserable, draggled little object I was, black as any sweep! My master got a basin of warm water and washed me all over—a process which I remember I strongly objected to, and resented by nipping his fingers sharply. But he was firm, and presently I was back again in my cage, which was placed before the kitchen fire, and Jack himself kept watch over me until, once more dry and clean, I was fit to return to the bowling-alley.

It was about this time that an unaccustomed quiet seemed to be settling upon the Hall and the demesne. There were less people about, no visitors, and some familiar faces among the servants were missed. I had never seen much of the Squire himself, but in these days he seldom came into the bowling-alley at all, as he had been used to do in the earlier days of my captivity. Even the boys seemed to have grown quieter. They laughed less often, and frequently I saw them talking to one another with grave faces.

At times I had an uneasy conviction of something wrong, but it was only a passing impression, for I, at least, never suffered in any way. Every fine day Jack took me out of doors, and I had a scamper in the clump of shrubs to which, ever since my narrow escape from the terrier, I was careful to confine myself. And as for food, no squirrel could have fared better. My master [64] was always bringing me fresh delicacies. One day it would be a cob of Indian corn, which grew to perfection under the south wall of the kitchen garden, and which I enjoyed vastly, ripping off the thick green husks and pulling the kernels out one by one. Another morning he would pick me a fine summer apple, its sunny side delicately tinged with streaky red, while he was always discovering new nuts for my delectation. Once, I remember, I made myself quite ill with the rich greasy kernel of a huge Brazil-nut. A very pet delicacy of mine in which I was often indulged was a piece of hard ship’s biscuit. There were few other eatables which I enjoyed so much. Now and then I was given a morsel of banana, and perhaps my greatest treat of all was a few of the black, oily seeds of the sunflower.

So things went on until the time that the blackberries began to ripen. Then, one warm sunny morning Jack got up very early and dressed quickly. I wanted to play as usual, but he seemed to have no time, and I was quite hurt at his apparent neglect. As he took me in my cage to the bowling-alley the Squire was in the hall. I had never seen him there so early. He looked old, and worn, and there were new lines in his [65] face, while his hair and beard seemed greyer than I had thought them.

‘Be quick and have your breakfast, Jack,’ I heard him say. ‘Your train goes at nine, remember.’

‘All right, dad,’ returned the boy. ‘Take care of Nipper while I’m gone.’

Then, when he had put me in my place in the bowling-alley just opposite old Joey’s perch, he did a very unusual thing—took me out again and stroked me. Then he put me back very gently and hurried away.

The morning passed; but when afternoon came and I looked for my master, as usual, there was no sign of him. I scratched vehemently at my cage-door, but no one came. Only old Joey made rude remarks and began to mimic me, so at last I retired in a very bad temper, and curling up in my hay began to wonder whether Jack had forgotten me. You see we had never been separated for a single day, and I could not in the least understand his absence.

At last some one came in, and I jumped out eagerly. But, to my great disappointment, it was Harry, not Jack, who came up and opened the door of my cage. ‘Poor old Nipper!’ he said, [66] and held out his hand, inviting me to come with him.

I came eagerly enough, for I had the idea that he would take me to my master. The two brothers were so nearly inseparable that I could not imagine one being long away from the other. He did not, however, carry me out of doors, but up to his own room, where he turned me loose and offered me biscuit. But I am afraid he found me a dull companion, for I was listening the whole time for Jack’s familiar footstep, and did not pay much attention to his friendly overtures. At last he took me back to the bowling-alley and shut me up again, and there I moped sulkily for the rest of the day.

Night came on, and no Jack. I could not eat, but sat awake all night, hoping for and expecting my master. Next morning Harry came to feed me, and was horrified when he found that I had not eaten my supper. He brought me every delicacy that he could think of, and at last, just to please him, I ate a nut or two. That evening he was taking me up to his room again, but as we got to the door I hopped out of his pocket and scampered off to Jack’s door. He let me in, and though it was a fresh and bitter disappointment [67] not to find my master, yet I felt a little happier among the familiar surroundings, and plucked up spirit enough to dig out a nut which I had hidden in his big bath-sponge and eat it. So that night Harry turned me loose in his brother’s room. I went to bed in a pocket of one of Jack’s old coats which hung against the door, and tried hard to imagine that my master was wearing it.

It was morning when I poked my head out. There was the smooth, white, empty bed, and still no sign of Jack. Presently the maid came in, and not seeing me, opened the window to air the room. After she had gone I clambered out of the coat-pocket and began aimlessly wandering about the room. Presently I found myself on the window-sill, and, catching sight of the elm branches waving close by, with one spring I was in the tree, and, running down the trunk, rapidly reached the grass. Outside the shadow of the tree the wide, smooth lawn sparkled with thick dew. I had never been out so early before, and I greatly disliked the cold wetness of the grass. But so anxious was I to find Jack that I hardly thought of the discomfort, and I made my way with all speed to the bench where he so often sat.

But he was not there. All was deserted and [68] strangely quiet; only the thrushes hopped past searching for their breakfast of worms, and a robin sang from the sunny summit of a clump of evergreens.

Often I had perched upon Jack’s shoulder as he strolled round to the stables to see his pony Tarbrush. To visit the stable was the next idea that came to me, and keeping as close as possible to the friendly shrubs and trees, I worked quickly round through the garden till I came to the belt of laurels which lay between the back premises and the stables.

I felt happier when I was off the ground and among the branches of the shrubs, and climbing quickly through them, soon came to the gate of the stable-yard.

There were cats here. I had seen them on my previous visits, and under any other circumstances nothing would have induced me to venture alone into the long, paved yard. But anxiety to find my master swallowed up all other considerations, and dropping from the laurels, I made straight for the door of Tarbrush’s stall.

There was no one in sight. Only from a stall on the other side came the hissing of a groom busy about a horse.

Imagine my dismay to find Tarbrush’s loose-box empty! So, too, were the other boxes in the same building. The place was absolutely deserted and deathly still. Feeling more lonely and miserable than ever, I turned uncertainly. I did not know where to go or what to do next; then I remembered that there was one other place where Jack had sometimes taken me—an old and long-disused stable at the far end of the yard, where his sister Mabel kept her hutches of tame rabbits.

The place was large and cool and dark. The windows had long ago been boarded up, and the back was shaded by thick shrubbery, through which the early sun had not yet pierced. I moved just inside the door, and sat up, listening keenly. But all that I could hear was the munch, munch of the rabbits’ teeth as they ate their breakfast of crisp leaves and roots. There was no human in the place.

At that moment a new sound broke upon my ear, a slight rustling, brushing noise. Then, before I could even turn, a large tabby cat came round the corner of the doorway. It was my old enemy, the same who had so nearly caught me in Jack’s bedroom. She was walking very slowly, rubbing her arched back against the wall as she went, and, [70] terrified as I was, I had sense enough to see that she had not yet noticed me. I did the only thing I could—crouched down close against the wall and remained there still as a hare in her forme, hardly even breathing.

For a moment I fancied that she would pass on. But I had forgotten her keen sense of smell. Suddenly she threw her head up and began snuffing the air; then with one quick bound leaped inside the doorway, and stood there perfectly still glaring about her with great, round green eyes.

I did not wait, but ran for dear life. As I started so did she, and to the best of my belief she jumped clean over me. I certainly felt the wind of her paw as she struck at my head.

In the old stable the mangers and racks were still in place and the ruinous remains of the partitions of the stalls. More by good luck than anything else, I chanced upon a worm-eaten oak post at the end of one partition and bolted up it. It led straight up through a gap in the ceiling, and I thought I was safe. I was sadly mistaken. This cat was almost as good a climber as I, and up she came at my very brush.

Scuttling up the wall of the loft, I reached a cross rafter, not twice my own length ahead of my [71] hunter. The cat was not quite so quick in getting on to the rafter as I was, and that gave me a short start.

A patch of sunlight came through a glassless window under the gable at the far end, and instinctively I made for this, jumping frantically from rafter to rafter. There was no time for plans. It was just one wild dash for any chance of safety.

The rafters were not very wide apart, not too far for me to jump from one to another with fair ease. But they were rough-hewn and narrow at the top, and the heavier cat could not get a foothold so quickly as I; so I gained all the way to the window. The second rafter from the window was a very narrow and awkward one. Even I found it hard to balance myself upon it. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of something hanging from the last rafter, the only one left between me and the window. It was a peculiar-looking, pear-shaped object, grey in colour, rough in texture, and in size rather larger than my body. I knew well enough what it was, though in my fright I barely noticed it. Next instant I had landed just above it, then, gathering all my powers for a longer leap than any before, launched myself towards the window-sill. I just succeeded in reaching it, only [72] to find that the opening was covered with wire netting. I was hopelessly trapped.

Hot-foot after me came the cat. She could jump as well or better than I, but, as I said before, the narrowness of the beams bothered her. When she reached the narrowest, the second from the window, she had all she could do to keep her balance. The result was that her next jump was a trifle short. Her fore-paws clutched the beam, but her hind-feet failed to reach it, and struggling desperately to pull herself up, she drove her hind-claws deep into the pear-shaped object which hung exactly below her.

Instantly there arose a deep-toned buzzing, and the air was thick with a cloud of furious wasps. There followed a perfect squeal of pain and terror, and my enemy, covered with a swarm of the fierce little stinging insects, dropped with a resounding thump on to the boards below, and fled like a mad thing, pursued by scores of angry wasps.

The wasps rose to the very roof; they were all round me. I made one frantic scramble up the rusty netting, found a hole, squeezed through anyhow, and just as the first wasp landed on my back and drove a vicious sting through my thick fur, took a wild jump in the direction of the nearest shrub.

The distance was too much for me. My fore-paws just touched the leaves, and I went sailing downwards into the deep shadows beneath. Down, down into absolute blackness, to land at last with a shock that for the moment completely deprived me of my few remaining senses. Fortunately for us squirrel folk and all other animals except man, we never remain insensible for long. I was all awake again in a very few moments, and found myself lying on a thick bed of damp, decaying leaves. It was almost pitch dark, but a little light which leaked down from somewhere high above showed me that I was at the bottom of a deep hole, with perpendicular sides of mouldering brickwork.

But this was not what set my heart beating again almost as thickly as a moment previously. It was a peculiar, musty, unpleasant odour, which made me instinctively spring up against the side of the hole and struggle hard to climb back to daylight. But rough as the walls of my prison were, my claws could get no grip, and I fell back panting and helpless to the bottom. Again and again I tried. The brickwork was very old, covered with close green moss and riddled with holes, and more than once I succeeded in climbing a good distance up the sides. But I always came [74] at last to some place where I could find no foothold, and went sliding helplessly down to the bottom again.

Soon I was quite exhausted. I had eaten hardly anything since Jack left, and the escape from the cat and the shock of my long fall had taken it out of me badly. At last I was forced to give it up and lay at full length breathing hard upon the sodden leaves.

Presently came a soft rustling sound, then a slight squeak. By this time my eyes were well accustomed to the gloom, and looking upwards, there at the mouth of one of the holes a sharp black nose appeared and a pair of beady, black eyes which stared at me fixedly. A moment later another nose showed from another hole, then a third, and a fourth. More and more came out, until the whole of the slimy old wall seemed alive with them, and all with their keen unwinking eyes fixed upon me as I crouched helpless in the bottom of the old dry well.

In the woods we squirrels seldom trouble about rats. In some of the old banks and hedgerows there are hundreds of them, but they don’t interfere with us as they do with the earth-livers and with the birds that nest on the ground. They [75] cannot harm us tree-dwellers. But we do not trust them, any more than do the rest of the woodland folk. Cruel, cunning and treacherous, the grey Hanoverian rat is the most detested and despised of all the animals, and the vile odour of his unclean body at once drives away all other creatures from his neighbourhood. For myself, I have and always had a perfect horror of rats. Mother once told us a ghastly story of how one of our people, accidentally caught in a steel trap, was literally eaten alive by rats. And here I was, in an almost equally helpless case, at the mercy of a score of the carrion brutes.

If there had been only one of them, I should not have been afraid. A solitary rat is always a coward, but in packs they are as fierce as weasels. For a long time they watched me without moving. The musty carrion odour grew worse and worse. Presently there was more rustling, and I saw the heads pushed out farther and farther from the dark recesses in the sides of the well. Then they began to squeak. They were talking, asking one another if it was safe to attack me. Suddenly one great brute, as big again as I, dropped from his hole almost on top of me. Fright gave me strength to make a last bid for life. I made another wild dash [76] at the side of my prison, and instantly the rats all vanished. This time I was lucky enough to find a piece of wall rough enough to give me foothold, and though my claws slipped again and again, yet each time I managed somehow to save myself, and at last reached a deep, square niche in the wall where a number of bricks seemed to have fallen out. Here there was room to sit, and I had sense enough to stay where I was and rest before trying anything else.

My rush had only frightened the rats for the moment. Very soon the rustling and squeaking began again, and louder than before. The heads reappeared, and as each came out the keen nose was turned upwards and the beady eyes fixed upon me again. Two or three sprang down into the bottom of the well and began snuffing about. I saw several little ones appear. All the rats were very quiet and leisurely in their movements. Evidently they felt perfectly certain that I could not escape. I could see them licking their greasy lips in anticipation of their meal.

Certainly I was better off in one way. I had climbed so high that now I was above their ring of holes. But above me the brickwork was less decayed. There was no foothold at all. Plainly I [77] could not possibly climb any higher. Even if the rats did not come after me where I was, it was only a matter of time before I was starved out and dropped down amongst them.

A long time passed, and though the rats still moved about at the bottom of the well, none came near me. I saw the sunlight begin to pierce through the shrubs above, and patches of light shone on the rusty iron railings which surrounded the top of the old well, and even gleamed on the green moss which coated its sides. But none reached me where I crouched, shivering in the cold and damp.

A dog barked somewhere up above, and then at last I heard human footsteps pass across the crackling leaves close to the well mouth. They were Harry’s. I shivered all over with excitement, and gave the little bark which was my call to Jack; but evidently he did not hear me, and the steps passed on, and all was quiet again. Even the rats had stopped squeaking, and most of them had gone back to their holes. Only the old buck who had jumped down at first was sitting in front of his hole below and opposite me, seemingly half asleep, but really keeping a watchful eye upon me.

The sunlight slowly faded, and the shadow of the [78] stable fell across the mouth of the well. Night was coming—night, when the rats would surely attack me. I was desperately hungry, though I do not think that just then I could have eaten the finest nut in the coppice. At last the first star twinkled overhead. For some time the rats had been moving again. I could hear them, though I could not see them. The bustle increased with the darkness, and there was more squeaking.

Presently I heard something climbing towards me. It was the father rat. Of that I was certain, though I could not see him. He came up slowly but steadily, and I shook all over with fresh panic.

All day I had sat quite still in my nook, staring upwards in the hope of seeing Jack’s head up above. I had not even once taken a look round my place of refuge. Now, as my enemy came stealthily nearer I backed into the recess. The hole ran in further than I had supposed, and I went in twice my own length before touching the brickwork.

Suddenly there was a slight snuffing sound. The rat was over the edge, and right upon me. What happened next I hardly know. I made a blind, panic-stricken rush, and found myself wedged between two bricks. The rat’s jaws closed upon [79] my brush. I struggled madly, and suddenly I was free and scuttling away down a sort of tunnel. Away I went, bumping against the top and sides, but still finding room to run.

Seemingly the great rat had been unable to squeeze through the narrow aperture in which even my small self had been caught for the moment, but at the time I do not think that I knew that. My one idea was to run, and run I did, plunging blindly on and on through the black dark like a rabbit with a stoat at its scut. I remember very little about that horrible tunnel or how I got through it. I only know that it was wet and slimy in places, and that it seemed as though I could not breathe. If it had not been for the fear of the rat I should never have been able to go on. But I fully believed that the bloodthirsty monster was behind me all the time, and each instant expected to feel the sharp teeth close upon me; so, breathless and suffocating, I kept on, until at last there was a break in the darkness, and next instant I tumbled headlong out of the mouth of a drain-pipe into the muddy bed of a dried-up pool.

I was so absolutely exhausted that there I lay, quite unable to stir brush or claw. If any prowling cat or weasel had happened upon me I could not [80] have lifted a paw to get away. But nothing did molest me, and after a long time I managed to struggle out of the mud and up the bank on to a patch of grass. When I looked round I found that I was in the Hall kitchen-garden.

I knew my way from there to the house, and slowly and wearily dragged myself back. I made for the elm by Jack’s window, climbed up it, and, finding a nook in a fork between two boughs, curled up, and was fast asleep in a moment.

In the morning I saw that the window was wide open, so, jumping in, I climbed upon Jack’s bed and curled my muddy little body up on the pillow.

There Harry found me, and I am bound to say that Jack himself never made as much fuss about me as his brother did on that occasion.

About four in the afternoon of the next day I was lying half-asleep in my cage in the bowling-alley when a sound in the distance made me spring up, quivering all over with excitement. Next moment the door burst open, and in rushed Jack. He never even waited to take off his hat or gloves, but ran up the long room, and flung open my cage door. With one bound I was on his shoulder, nosing him and biting his ears and hair in a perfect transport of delight, and I think he was just as glad as I was.

Presently his sister’s voice called him from behind. He turned and kissed her, and with me still on his shoulder, followed her to the Hall, where the Squire and Mrs. Fortescue were at tea.

After this Jack and I became more inseparable than ever. He had holidays—these days—and I simply lived in his pocket. The next afternoon there was great excitement. I heard every one [82] congratulating Jack, though of course I did not in the least comprehend why his mother and sister hugged and kissed him, and the Squire solemnly shook hands with him. It was just as well for me that I did not realize what had happened, or those lovely September days would have been the most miserable instead of the happiest in the whole of my life; for Jack had passed an examination with the result that in a few weeks he would have to go and live and work in London—a dreadful place, I understand—where it is all houses and no trees, where the sun never shines, and where the only wild creatures that exist are those cheeky, chattering thieves, the sparrows.

Harry, too, was always with his brother at this time, and they talked more than I had ever known them to do before.

The two were very serious one day, lying on their backs beneath the trees on the lawn while I ran all over them both impartially. And from the way in which they turned to me and caught me up every now and then, as well as because I heard my own name frequently spoken, I came to the conclusion the conversation had something to do with my fate. And there was no doubt it had, for it was after this time they all left the Hall, and when I visited it [83] again there were strangers—but I mustn’t go on too fast. I fancy Jack urged Harry to keep me while he himself was away, and Harry shook his head; perhaps he was afraid I might mope away, as I did before in Jack’s absence, and end by dying. Anyway, a gloomy silence settled again between the brothers. At last Jack started up and waved his hand energetically in the direction of the wood; then, springing to his feet, he called to me to come to him. I had leaped away in affright at his sudden movements, to which I never could get accustomed, but I returned again at once. Jack had quite sense enough to know squirrels mate for life, and the young ones usually stay with their parents all the winter; and he knew, what I did not, that mother and Hazel and Rusty would still be in the coppice to greet me, and teach me all the wild-wood lore, even though my father was dead.

The brothers argued for some time over my prospective fate, but I did not really understand until later, when their actions showed me what they meant. I had leaped from Jack’s shoulder during this weighty conversation, and was enjoying myself hugely, tearing round and round the two boys, and making an occasional dive into Jack’s pocket after the nuts and grains of wheat and maize which [84] were always to be found there. But, after all, I was not taken away to the woodlands at once.

Three or four days later Jack again got up very early, and as he dressed I could hear out on the drive a great grinding of heavy wheels. As Jack hurried down he took me on his shoulder instead of putting me in my cage. His brother joined him on the stairs, and they walked down side by side, as solemnly as two old crows.

The hall was full of crates and matting, and men in green baize aprons were turning everything upside down. Outside, in the ring, were great vans almost as big as cottages. The boys hardly wasted a glance on these things, but hurried past, and next moment were striding away across the dewy grass of the lawn.

I was amazed at being taken out so early, but all the same very much delighted, and sat on my master’s shoulder chattering with joy. Neither brother spoke, but walked steadily on under the long morning shadows of the tall elms until they reached the ha-ha which cut the garden off from the park. Jumping down the sunk fence, they turned to the right, passed under the shadow of the wall of the kitchen-garden, and along beside the laurel plantation beyond. A wicket-gate led [85] through the park fence and into a large field, in which red cattle were grazing.

Strange memories began to stir in my breast as a line of tall, thick timber came in sight on the far side of the meadow; and when my master jumped the little brook and walked up over some broken, sandy ground where the white scuts of rabbits bobbed among the bracken, towards the tall magpie hedge beyond, my heart was beating so violently that I could only sit quite still upon his shoulder and stare about me in a sort of mazed bewilderment.

On through the gate, and at once we were plunged into deep, damp coolness. All the half-forgotten odours of moss and bracken and rotting wood, and a hundred other woodland scents, rose to my distended nostrils and almost overpowered me. Just then I could not have moved for the life of me.

‘That’s where I saw the little beggars the other day, Jack,’ he said softly, and pointed to a tall beech-tree whose leaves, just beginning to yellow with the first chill of autumn, hung motionless in the still morning air.

Then they both seated themselves on a mossy log and waited, still as two dormice. The wild things [86] of the woods, frightened into silence at these early morning intruders, gradually regained confidence. A rabbit popped out of his hole and began feeding on the close turf, on which the autumn dew-spangles gleamed in a patch of sunshine which struck through the leafy canopy overhead. A shrew-mouse, intent on some business of his own, bustled noiselessly across the path; a woodpecker started his tap, tap, tap, as he industriously probed a rotten branch for his breakfast of fat grubs; two jays began calling harshly, and presently the flicker of their brilliant blue plumage glanced through the greenery. As for me, I had crept off Jack’s shoulder, and, sitting up straight on one end of the log, was struggling desperately to take it all in.

The boys never moved nor spoke, but presently Harry touched his brother gently, and pointed very cautiously towards the beech-tree. I, too, was gazing with all my eyes up into the tree, my heart throbbing more violently than ever, for down the smooth grey bark a patch of red-brown fur was softly stealing with slow, deliberate steps, clutching tightly at unseen footholds with outstretched claws. The boys saw him, and so did I, but we none of us moved. As for me, my feelings were beyond words.

Nearer he came, and now I saw that he was almost my own double. His head was stretched out at right angles to his body, and his eyes, bright as two jewels, were fixed upon me with intensest curiosity. Presently he reached the lowest bough, and there stood motionless as I was, and staring at me with a strange intensity. The calls of kindred were clamouring in my veins, and all of a sudden the spell was broken. Without one backward look at my dear master, I jumped from the log, raced across the ground between it and the tree, and with one rattle of claws was up on the huge, lowest branch.

But behold! the apparition which had attracted me had disappeared, and I stared round in fresh wonder. Suddenly came a little sharp cry, and down from the leaves above me dropped—my mother herself! She gave a sharp bark of astonishment.

Then I remembered! A mad transport of joy thrilled me through and through, and with one wild dash I tore away up the tree, corkscrewing madly round and round the huge trunk in the way we squirrels have when joy is beyond expression.

Mother was with me, and next instant a third squirrel joined in our mad frolic. It was my [88] brother Rusty, the squirrel whom I had seen first of all, and had failed to recognize after our long separation. Before I reached the top, yet a fourth frantic dot of red fur was flashing round and round, barking madly, and I knew her for my sister Hazel. I think we were all quite mad with joy for the time being, and we never ceased our crazy scamperings until, quite out of breath, we landed all together in a fork among the branches high up in the leafy summit of the tall beech-tree. There we sat and began a talk that lasted I don’t know how long. It was the most curious thing. I had been away from them all so long, and become so accustomed to human talk, that I could hardly make my family understand my adventures, and they, on their part, were surprised beyond measure that any of the humans, whom they had so long looked upon as their hereditary enemies, could possibly have been so kind to me. But at last they had all my story, and then, and not till then, did the recollection of Jack come back to me.

When I announced my intention of going down again to find my master, mother evidently thought I was quite out of my senses.

‘But you have escaped. Surely you do not want to go back to live in your prison!’ she urged.

I explained all over again what a good friend he had been to me, how he had saved my life, how he had fed me with all sorts of dainties; indeed, I strongly recommended her and my brother and sister to come with me. There was plenty of room, I said, and I waxed enthusiastic over the unlimited supplies of nuts, and fruit, and grain without any trouble in looking for them.

It was not the slightest good. Mother declared that the notion of living inside burrows—for that was her idea of a house and its rooms—was altogether detestable, and only fit for rabbits and humans, and would most certainly kill her in a very short time. All I could do, after much urging, was to persuade my family to come down to the lower branch and watch me go and talk to Jack.

Rusty was quite ready—he always had a bold, determined streak about him; but mother and Hazel hung back. When we got down, there was my dear master sitting where I had left him, all alone. Harry had left. His face lighted up when he saw me hopping along the branch above him, and he gave the little whistle I knew so well, and stood up. Running to the pendent tip of the branch, I made a flying leap, and landed clean on the top of his cap.

‘Why, Nipper, Nipper,’ he said, taking me on his hand and stroking me fondly, ‘I almost thought you had forgotten me!’

I nibbled his finger lovingly by way of apology, and signified that I was quite ready for a nut. It was promptly forthcoming, and then as I ate it he put me down on the log, and walking softly towards the tree, turned out two pockets stuffed with the finest hazel-nuts, and piled them by handfuls into a hollow as high as he could reach.

Then he sat down again beside me, took me up and talked to me, and petted me for a long time. At last, very slowly and reluctantly, he put me back on the branch from which I had leaped down.

‘Good-bye, old chap,’ he said in a queer, unsteady voice, and suddenly turned and walked quickly away.

To say that I was astonished would be putting it mildly. I was absolutely thunderstruck, but after a minute made up my mind it was some new kind of game, and prepared to follow.

‘Scud! Scud!’ I heard mother call, but I paid no attention. Running along the branch as far as it would bear, I made a flying leap into the next tree. It had been my dear father’s boast that he [91] could travel from one end of our coppice to the other without once touching ground, and indeed I found no difficulty in doing the same. I was so excited that I thought nothing of jumps of six times my own length, for Jack was walking very fast, and I was in a dreadful fright that I might be left behind.

At the gate he turned and saw me. He stood a moment irresolute, then quickly vaulted the gate and started off across the field. At this I grew quite desperate, and dropping into the hedge scuttled along it, reached the gate-post, and sitting straight up gave one sharp bark. At that my master turned again and hurried back.

‘Oh, Nipper, why can’t you go home?’ he muttered, and picking me up, walked very fast back to the big beech-tree.

‘Good-bye, once more, old fellow,’ he said stooping over me, and suddenly I was startled by a drop like rain falling on my head.

Looking up in amazement, I saw my dear master’s face twisted as though in pain; but before I could make up my mind what was the matter, he suddenly pitched me gently back into the hollow where he had put me before, and brushing his sleeve across his face, fairly ran away down the [92] path. Before I well realized what had happened, he was lost to sight among the trees.

As soon as I recovered a little from my astonishment, I started a second time for the gate; but before I reached it Jack was half-way across the field, and travelling so fast that I knew I could never catch him; and besides, I had always been terribly afraid of the ground ever since my escape from the terrier.

I don’t think that ever in my life have I felt so utterly miserable as when I realized that my master had abandoned me. You see, I could not understand it at all, and my one sensation was an utter and overwhelming loneliness. Gradually, too, I became frightened. I had never been alone out of doors before, and this was all so different to the Hall garden. The field seemed a vast green desert, and behind me the wood an illimitable rustling mystery full of unseen perils. How long I sat there straining my eyes after the vanished form of my master I do not know, but what roused me at last was a sudden rustle behind, which made me start violently. However, it was only Rusty, who had followed me, and was seated on a swinging hazel-bough in the hedge, staring at me in a perplexed fashion.

I told him I felt very forlorn now that my master had left me. My brother could not believe that I wanted to follow him; such a thing was quite beyond his comprehension.

When I assured him it was true, Rusty looked as solemn as if he was now certain that I had quite taken leave of my senses.

‘What! You want to go back and live in those burrows when you’ve got all the wood to roam in!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll be shot if I can understand you! Do you mean that you’d rather spend your time all alone in a place you can’t get out of than go foraging round with us all day as free as—as’—Rusty’s imagination failed him, and he paused—‘well—as free as a squirrel, for there’s no other creature in the woods that is as free as we are.’

I reminded him that I was used to being protected, and had never experienced anything but the utmost gentleness from Jack and his family.

‘Yes, I know. I’m sure he is quite different from those red-faced brutes who broke our nest down and killed poor father,’ replied Rusty. ‘And he has left us nuts enough for a month. But all his kind are so big and so dull. They can’t climb trees like us, or jump;’ and my brother made a [94] splendid spring down to my side just to show what he could do. ‘It’s no kind of life for a squirrel. My brush, but I should have taken the first chance to run off and come back home!’

Then he gave a sudden low cry of warning, and instinctively I followed him as he bounded back into the thick of the hedge just as a hen sparrow-hawk stooped like a falling stone out of the blue above, reaching the grass by a tuft of gorse a little way out in the field. There was a sharp cry, cut short almost before it was uttered, and then the feathered robber rose again, bearing in her crooked talons the struggling form of a linnet. A few small feathers floated away through the still, warm air, and all was over. The hawk sailed away towards a distant tree with her meal tight clutched between her claws.

It was long since I had seen one of these everyday woodland tragedies, and it made me realize with a shock that now I had myself only to depend upon, with no strong human hand to aid me. Frightened and unhappy, I followed Rusty quietly back into the heart of the coppice, and that night saw me one of a furry ball of four, curled in a hole in the heart of the great beech.

I did not forget my master and settle down to my old out-door life at once. Every morning for many days I visited the gate at the end of the wood-path, and sat there or in the hedge beside it, straining my eyes across the meadow in the hope that Jack might come back once more. But never a sign of him or Harry did I see, and though, as the leaves began to fall, it was quite easy to view the roof of the Hall across the shrubberies, no smoke rose from the tall, twisted red-brick chimney-stacks.

How good mother was to me in those days I well remember. She encouraged me to tell her all I could of the Hall and its people, and all the incidents of my captivity, and she alone of my family seemed thoroughly to sympathize with me in my longing for my lost master.

Hazel, too, was very dear and good, and would listen with the greatest interest to my long yarns. [96] She was a sweet little thing in those days, very small, but extremely well built and active, and, for a young squirrel, of a peculiarly rich colour. Rusty, however, had little sympathy with my longings. He was already a large, powerful squirrel of an extremely independent turn of mind, and most extraordinarily bold and fearless. Mother was in a constant state of anxiety about him, for he would go off on long expeditions quite alone, sometimes not coming home till nearly sunset, and ever since father’s death mother had been nervous as a hare when any of her children were out of her sight.

As for me, I soon became thoroughly at home in the wood, and could climb as well as either my brother or my sister, though I was at first by no means so adept at taking shelter as the other two. I had grown so accustomed to many sights and sounds ordinarily alarming to one of our tribe, that mother had often to scold me for exposing myself heedlessly to view on the rare occasions when people walked through the wood, and she had to show me all over again the tricks of lying out flat on a bough so that I could not be seen by passers-by, or of supporting myself on a trunk beneath a sheltering branch when [97] danger in the shape of a hawk threatened from above.

The good and plentiful food with which I had always been supplied at the Hall had made me fat and strong beyond what squirrels usually are at my age. There was very little difference now between me and Rusty, though originally I had been smaller. It was lucky for me that I had been turned loose just at this special time of year, for autumn is, of course, the squirrel’s harvest, and food was particularly plentiful that season. Nuts were ripening among the yellowing leaves; acorns were to be had for the picking; the beech-trees were full of mast, and when we tired of these there were spruce-seeds and berries of every description.

Earlier in the year larch, fir, pine, and spruce tips had been our main sustenance, but these were now getting dry and old, for it was past the season of evergreen growth, and so we left them alone and fed almost entirely on nuts and seeds.

About this time we had several days of soft warm rain, and after them part of the horse pasture which adjoined the coppice on the other side from the Hall was thickly dotted each morning with little white buttons, which mother explained to me [98] were mushrooms. We used to steal down across the wet grass in the mornings, brushing through the gossamer spiders’ webs till our chests and paws were white with them, and feast royally on the tenderest and daintiest of the mushrooms, sometimes getting terrible frights when the village children who came to fill their baskets saw us, and clapped their hands to make us run.

Mother was a wonderful forager. I remember one morning how she stopped on the bank where the beech-trees grow thickest, and after snuffing a moment or two, began to dig rapidly in the soft, black, loamy soil. Presently she nosed out some little round objects covered with a dark skin, and pushed one over to me. Never have I eaten anything more delectable than my first truffle. I can find them myself now as well as anyone.

Other fungi too were plentiful after that rain. Some grew under the trees, some on rotten logs, others out in the open. Some were good to eat—better even than mushrooms—but others were poisonous. Mother never passed a new one without showing us which were fit to eat and which were not. There was a brilliant scarlet kind which she warned us against strongly; well I remember how she scolded me one day because just for fun I [99] pulled one up, and stuck it stalk down in a fork of a tree. I did not repeat the experiment, for it left a bad taste in my mouth for hours afterwards.

About this time my coat began to change. Squirrels that are born early in the spring have fur of a greyish-brown hue very like the coats that old squirrels put on in winter, but we, being June kittens, had summer suits of red-brown without any ear tufts, or any hair on the palms of our hands. First, my tail changed and grew darker, much heavier and more bushy. It turned to a blackish-brown, quite different from its previous bright chestnut-red hue. My coat, too, began, but more slowly, to lose its ruddy tint, and to assume its winter colouring. I became dark brownish-red on the head and back. My white under parts changed to grey, which spread along my sides. It also grew longer, softer and warmer, and my ear tufts began to show. During the summer a squirrel has but a few hairs on the points of the ears, but winter brings a thick tuft a full inch in length.

We squirrels have a strange peculiarity. We are the only living creatures, so far as I know, who change our coats twice a year and our tails once only. As I have said, we change our coats in spring and again before the cold weather, but our [100] tails once only—in autumn. A healthy squirrel looks at his best in late September and early October, for at that time his new brush is extremely bright, while his new grey-brown coat is rich and long. Both fade during the cold weather, the fur especially becoming during long frosts of a yellowish rusty hue. There are, I believe, some squirrels, near relatives of our own, living in Canada, who turn almost white in winter. But as—luckily for ourselves—all we squirrels have the sense to sleep away most of the cold weather, we have not the same need to conceal ourselves by assuming the colour of the snow, as have Arctic hares and foxes and many other animals which are obliged to work and forage for a living during the hard weather.

But I was talking about the good times we had that autumn and the various delicacies we used to hunt. After the rain which brought such a crop of mushrooms, we had a week of wonderfully warm, soft, hazy weather, but then the wind switched round into the east, and for the first time in my life I understood what cold was. It blew bitterly, with a hard grey sky, and the trees being still full of leaves, the noise of the gale through the coppice was one long roar, the great boughs swaying, creaking, and complaining bitterly. Very [101] glad we were, when night fell, to snuggle all four close together in the hollow in the beech hole which mother had selected as our abode after the destruction of our second nest! It was a very convenient residence, considering that it was a ready-made one. Some winter storm of years long past had torn away a large branch at its junction with the trunk, and rain and weather had rotted the scar till at last a hollow was left large enough to hold a dozen of us. Once it had been full of water, but a green woodpecker boring its nest in the trunk below, the moisture had drained away through the rotten fibres, and now it was dry as a bone, and formed as convenient and comfortable a retreat as any dreyless family of squirrels could possibly desire.

The gale lasted two whole days and nights, and then it cleared and left a hard blue sky from which the small white flecks of wind-cloud vanished one by one, and on the fourth morning we woke to find the grass white with hoar frost and a keen tang in the air which filled us with a wild delight in the mere fact of being alive. Rusty, Hazel and I sallied forth and tore round and round like three mad things, flinging ourselves from bough to bough, rattling up and down the huge trunk and wide-spreading [102] branches, playing all manner of practical jokes on one another.

Mother watched us indulgently, but when, quite out of breath, we at last came back to her, she announced that the time had arrived to begin the collection of our winter stores.

‘Now that you have no father,’ she said, ‘you must help me in the work, for remember there is nothing worse than to be caught by bad weather unprepared, and without many stores of food.’

That was the first real work that I ever did. It seemed odd, when we reached the nut bushes at the edge of the coppice, not to choose the plumpest nuts, and sit and eat them on the spot. I think, indeed, that we all began by doing so, and mother did not interfere until we had each had a good breakfast; but afterwards she kept us steadily to work. I am afraid that we needed a good deal of superintendence to keep us up to the mark, but mother set us such a good example that we were shamed into doing our best. At first I was under the impression that we were to carry all the nuts back to our beech-tree home, but mother laughed when I suggested this, and told me that it was quite unnecessary to do anything of the kind. After looking about a little, she [103] chose a long hollow under a gnarled old blackthorn trunk at the bottom of the hedge, and here, and in other similar cavities, we stored a goodly supply. Towards noon mother told us that that was enough for the day, and while she and Hazel went back home, Rusty and I decided to go for a little round on our own account.

Working down the hedge, we came upon a patch of thick brambles from which the blackberries were falling from over-ripeness. A greedy cock pheasant below was simply stuffing himself with the fallen berries and those near the ground. For a joke Rusty crept up quietly, and then, making a sudden bound, alighted almost on the handsome bird’s head. Off he went with a terrific whirr and flutter across the big meadow, and Rusty, with a malicious gleam in his eyes, sprang back to my side.

Presently we found ourselves at the coppice gate, and instinctively I stopped and gazed across the meadow towards the Hall. The wind had brought many leaves down, and the long, low, red-brick building with its steep tiled roofs, stood strongly outlined behind the thinning fringe of its oaks and elms.

I don’t know whether it was the keen, brisk air, [104] or what, but suddenly the idea came to me to visit the old place once more, and on the spur of the moment I suggested it to Rusty.

For a moment my brother looked blank. Adventurous as he was, the idea of crossing more than a quarter of a mile of open grass land rather staggered him. You know we squirrels will make journeys of any length provided we can travel through the tree tops, and so long as a tree is handy we have no objection to short trips across country from one to another; but none of us care about open ground. We can run at a good speed for a short distance, but there is no cover in grass. There we are absolutely at the mercy of any hungry hawk, while weasels have a nasty trick of popping out suddenly from rabbit earths or drains. Then, too, there is no escape from the gun or rabbit rifle of any pot-hunting man or boy, while poaching dogs or cats are another source of really desperate peril.

However, Rusty was not the sort to think twice of danger, or to be outdared by the brother whom he had secretly despised as a ‘tame’ squirrel. I saw his teeth set and a sudden sparkle in his eye.

‘All right,’ he remarked, and that was all. He was out of the hedge and over the ditch before [105] me, and leading the way at a great pace across the pasture.

We did not keep to the path, but made off to the left, where an irregular fringe of trees grew along inside the hedge which cut off the pasture from the road leading between the Hall and the village. Great luck attended us. Beyond a few rabbits we saw no sign of life, and when we got close enough to the trees to take refuge if any danger approached I breathed more freely, and I feel sure that Rusty was equally relieved. Racing along among the rustling dead leaves, we crossed the brook near the culvert under the road. The rivulet was so small that it was no trouble to jump. Then we found ourselves in the park, and here we had to take to the open again. The fine clumps of timber which dotted it here and there were our islands of refuge, and we ran from one to the other, the same good fortune attending us during our whole journey. From the last tree we steered for the kitchen-garden wall, and keeping along the bottom of this, reached the sunk fence. Once up this, and I was on familiar ground.

A long narrow plantation of Kentish cob-nuts bordered the wall which divided the kitchen-garden [106] from the lawns, and in this we were soon snugly ensconced.

‘My teeth! Did you ever see such nuts?’ exclaimed Rusty, staring in wide-eyed amazement at the great russet-coloured cobs which hung in profusion among the brilliantly tinted leaves.

‘Oh yes, I’ve eaten lots of them,’ replied I, with conscious superiority. ‘Try them. They’re uncommon good.’

Rusty needed no second bidding, but set to work, and cutting the tip off one of the largest nuts, was soon discussing its fat, white kernel with a gusto which proved that he thoroughly agreed with me in my estimate of the quality of cobs. I joined in, and we made a most delicious luncheon. From where we sat the lawn and part of the house were in full sight, and all the time I kept a watch fill eye upon the clump of evergreens where I had been used to play, in the hope that I might see the familiar figure of my dear master in his rough tweeds, and his cap on the back of his head, sauntering across the lawn.

Alas! there was no sign of him nor of any of the Fortescues. Had I known it, half the length of England separated me from the nearest of my old friends. After a time, however, some one did [107] stroll out upon the terrace walk. He was a complete stranger—a short, fat man, with red cheeks and mutton-chop whiskers. He wore a grey bowler, tipped far back upon his head, his thumbs were stuck in the armholes of his gaudy waistcoat, and a long, black cigar was held between his thick lips. He was gazing round him with a complacent air of proprietorship which in some indefinable fashion annoyed me intensely.

Suddenly he took the cigar from his lips and shouted loudly, ‘Simpson!’ A man with a bill-hook in his hand came hurrying round from the shrubbery behind the house.

The stout man pointed to Jack’s and my pet clump of evergreens. ‘Those shrubs are untidy, Simpson. They want clipping up. Get to work on ’em at once!’ And, to my horror and disgust, Simpson began chopping and carving away at the deodars and arbor vitæ, lopping all the boughs up a man’s height from the ground, and turning the pretty shrubs into the stiff, unnatural likeness of the toy trees in Jack’s youngest brother’s Noah’s Ark.

Then, as I looked about me, I began to see that many things had been changed. The laurels were cut close and flat; a number of fine limbs had been [108] sawn from the elms; several new beds of weird pattern had been cut in the splendid century-old turf of the lawn; the gravel paths were all fresh swept; everything had a painfully overtidy appearance.

Presently one of the drawing-room French windows was pushed open, and a third person appeared on the scene—a boy about Jack’s age, but how strangely different! He was short, like the elder man, and had the appearance of having but just stepped out of a band-box. His cord riding-breeches were as immaculate as his white cuffs and tall white collar; his brown boots quite gleamed in the autumn sun, and he wore new dogskin gloves. Strolling over towards his father, he began to talk, but we were too far away to hear what they said. After a short time they both turned and came across the lawn towards the kitchen-garden door.

‘I say, Scud, hadn’t we better hook it?’ suggested Rusty. But I was so interested in these new people, who seemed to have usurped the place of my dear Fortescues, that foolishly I replied:

The pair had nearly reached the garden door [109] when I heard the boy exclaim something, and they changed the direction of their walk in the direction of the hazels. A swish of bent branches shortly followed.

The distance from the garden door down to the angle of the garden wall was not more than thirty yards, and I knew very well that, thick as the bushes were, there was not a ghost of a chance of our remaining undetected if they came poking about in this fashion.

‘Come on, Rusty!’ I muttered, and we at once made off as quietly as we could. Unluckily for us, while the stout man was poking his head among the branches, puffing and blowing as he did so like a broken-winded horse, the boy had walked on down the path, and next moment his shrill voice rang out:

‘I say, father, here are two beastly squirrels stealing nuts. Keep an eye on ’em while I get my gun.’

He was off across the grass at a pace one would not have credited him with, and we, aware that any attempt at further concealment was useless, went off also at top speed.

What we both dreaded was the long open space at the bottom of the kitchen-garden wall, where it [110] abutted on the park. However, there was no shirking it. If we stayed where we were we would be caught like rats in a trap. It was Rusty who made the jump first out of the bushes and down the sunk fence, and as I followed him I heard the fat man shouting hoarsely: ‘Quick, they’re running away!’

How we scuttled! Even a terrier would have had his work cut out to catch us. There was no cover at all until we reached the far end of the long line of wall, and we strained every nerve to gain the hedge which ran at right angles from the end of it, separating the park from the road. The distance was not much more than seventy yards, but it seemed like a mile as we tore along. Fresh shouts behind us spurred us to almost super-squirrel efforts. Hardly five yards were left when suddenly—bang, and a sound like hail pattering on the ground behind us. Next second, and with simultaneous bounds we were in the hedge, but before we could get through it and into shelter on the far side the sound of another shot rang through the calm autumn air, and this time with better aim. Leaves flew in the hedge, and a sharp blow on the head sent me staggering, nearly causing me to lose my foothold.

‘Come on, Scud. We must cross the road,’ called Rusty at that moment; and with a fine jump he was across the ditch and out on the white, dusty surface.

Recovering myself, I followed, and found that, though my head was singing, I could still run as well as ever.

Luckily there was not a soul in sight, so we crossed the road in safety, plunged through the opposite hedge, and found ourselves in a plantation of young larches about twenty feet high. Through these we went as hard as ever we could pelt, until, quite exhausted, we came to rest somewhere in the thickest depths, and, climbing into one of the largest trees, lay panting and tired out on an upper bough. For a minute neither of us could move; then suddenly Rusty, glancing at me, exclaimed:

In a moment the good fellow was licking my wounded head. A pellet of shot, it seemed, had glanced along my skull, cutting the skin and going right through one of my ears. The wound bled a good deal, but it was not a serious one, and after I had got my breath back, and after my heart had [112] ceased thumping as though it would burst, I felt very little the worse, and announced that I was quite ready to start home. But Rusty, more cautious, refused to move.

‘That fellow with the gun may be waiting in the road for us,’ he said. ‘Much better stay here a bit. The shadows are still short, and we shall have plenty of light for our journey home.’

His advice seemed good, so we waited where we were for an hour or more. My wound stopped bleeding, but my head was very sore. It was not, however, so badly hurt as my feelings. That I should have been shot at and nearly killed in the garden of the Hall seemed beyond belief, and what made it worse was that I had impressed on Rusty over and over again that whatever the dangers in our coppice, the Hall grounds, at any rate, were a safe refuge. One thing I was deeply grateful for—that he had not been harmed. With all the intensity of my squirrel nature I hated the intruders who had put the insult upon me. How I longed that Jack might have been there to take vengeance on our persecutors!

Rusty, good fellow that he was, forebore to add to my self-reproaches by any remarks about what had happened. When I made some sort of apology [113] for bringing him into trouble, he merely smiled, and, licking his lips, said:

‘I shan’t forget those nuts in a hurry. Wouldn’t mother like a few of them!’

At last, when the shadows were beginning to lengthen towards the east, we made a move. Under Rusty’s direction we worked back very quietly through the plantation to the edge of the road, and took a careful survey from the top of the tallest tree. All was still, the only sounds that broke the quiet of the windless autumn afternoon being the scrape of Simpson’s saw as he lopped away branches from the Hall trees, and the distant ‘Gee!’ and ‘Haw!’ of a ploughman at work in a field to the right of the larch plantation.

We crossed the road again, and resolved that though the distance was considerably greater, we would stick to the hedge all the way, and not trust ourselves again to the open grass. Fortunately for our peace of mind, the road along the side of which we were forced to travel was quite deserted, and, keeping as much as possible in the centre of the hedge, we slipped along at best pace. Of course, it was not by any means easy travelling, for in places the quickset was so thick and close that we were forced to take to the ground for short distances. [114] Ground near a hedge is always most dangerous, for an old hedgerow, especially one with high banks either of earth or stone, is the chosen home of the stoat and the weasel, and both these bloodthirsty little terrors are quite as much at home among the branches of a thick hedge as even a squirrel.

More than half of our journey was covered in safety, and when we reached and crossed the brook we began to feel as though we were almost home. But we were not to escape without further adventure. A little way past the brook, just as we were nearing the timber which I have mentioned as running in an irregular row along the inside of this part of the hedge, there came a piece of holly so thick and close-cropped as to be quite impenetrable except very close to the ground. It would really have been wiser to have cut out across the field to the nearest of the trees, but we had had such a scare that we shirked the open. Rusty, leading as before, had got half-way through the holly, when I saw him stop short, and then, with a little warning cry, make a quick bound upwards into the thickest heart of the holly. At the same moment the tangled ivy which covered the bank below became alive with little beady eyes and snake-like, sinuous [115] forms. We had run right into a whole pack of weasels hunting together, as is their custom on autumn afternoons.

I was after him like a flash, but the brutes had seen us, and came swarming up the close-set stems, hard at our heels. Under ordinary circumstances we could have cleared them in half a dozen bounds, but here we were at a shocking disadvantage. Above our heads the holly was like a wall, and it was all we could do to force our way through the stiff, glistening, dark-green leaves. I remember plunging along desperately, almost mad with fright, my eyes half-shut to protect them from the sharp prickles, and my nostrils full of the horrible, musky odour of our eager pursuers.

Then suddenly I was out of the darkness and on the top of the hedge, scratched, breathless, my wounded ear bleeding again. But where was Rusty? I could not see him, and a horrible fear almost numbed me. Just in front the branches were shaking, but it was too thick to see what was happening below. Anxiety overcoming terror, I made a dive forward into the tangle from which I had just escaped with much difficulty, and almost as I did so there came Rusty’s head out of the thicket. His eyes were bright with fright, and he dragged [116] himself forward slowly, as if something were pulling him back. Instantly I saw that a weasel had him by the tail, its sharp teeth buried in the thick, long hairs. Without thinking twice, I plunged down and snapped with all my might at the fierce brute’s head. My long front teeth sank deep into the back of his neck, and I felt them grate on his skull. His jaws opened and he fell backwards, knocking over the next of the pack in his fall.

Relieved of the weight, Rusty shot upwards, and with half a dozen tremendous bounds was out of danger. As I followed him, a third weasel gained the top of the hedge, and, throwing its long body high into the air, like a snake in the act of striking, tried its best to seize me. I heard its needle-like, white teeth snap and caught a glimpse of its red eyes gleaming fiercely; but I was too quick for it, and, as it fell back disappointed, I was off in Rusty’s wake at a speed that defied pursuit. Regardless of concealment, we tore along the top of the hedge until level with the trees, then, turning off to the left, reached the timber, and so from tree to tree towards the coppice.

The sun was just setting when two worn-out, scratched, frightened, and very disreputable-looking squirrels reached the old beech and made humble [117] confession to their mother of all that had happened to them during that adventurous day, and, after a thorough good scolding, were at last forgiven and permitted to sup on beech-mast and curl up with the rest of their family snug in the heart of the great beech trunk.

After this day I found that Rusty treated me with far more consideration than he had ever shown before. He dropped his jeers about ‘tame’ squirrels, and showed in his silent way that he was pleased to have my company in his wanderings abroad. I forgot to say that, though his brush looked a little lopsided for a time, the hair soon grew again, while my wound healed rapidly; but I still have a small hole through the left ear where the shot passed, to remind me of my narrow escape.

For the next few weeks mother kept us very busy, helping her to collect winter stores. These consisted almost entirely of hazel-nuts, acorns, and beech-mast, all of which were very plentiful. We made small hoards in many different places, a very necessary precaution, for if—to use Jack’s expression—we were to put all our eggs in one basket, we should stand a very good chance of starving in hard weather. There are plenty of thieves in the woods. [118] Rats and mice are the worst—absolutely conscienceless, both of them. Then there are the nut-hatches, who have a wonderful trick of ferreting out nuts hidden in holes in timber. Again, snow may cover a ground-hoard too deep to reach it, or even hide it altogether, so that it is impossible to find it at all. People who abuse us, because we occasionally do a little pruning among the tips of the evergreens, should remember that we are the greatest planters in the country. I suppose that quite one in three of the ancient oaks that England is so proud of have sprung from acorns hidden by squirrels in autumn, and either lost or not needed during the winter. So, too, have countless beech-trees and nut-bushes, and not a few pines and firs into the bargain.

As we worked at our stores we often met others of our race intent upon similar business. The nuts of our coppice were famous for a long way round, and were so plentiful that there was enough for fifty families if they cared to come for them. We enjoyed seeing these visitors, and had great games with them.

And so day by day, as the leaves fell and the night frosts became more frequent and more sharp, we worked and played and generally enjoyed life quite undisturbed by any outside interference.

Gales and cold rain prevailing, we spent much of our time indoors, while the wind roared through the coppice, and clouds of dead leaves whirled through the air, settling in rustling drifts in every hollow. The bracken was long ago brown and dead, but the blackberry leaves, though purpled by the frost, still clung with their accustomed obstinacy to the stalks, and provided thick cover for the pheasants. The old beech-trees were nearly bare, and, indeed, all the trees except the evergreens, especially those on the west side of the wood, had lost their leaves; only the oaks had foliage still to boast of, and most of this was brown and withered.

But it was only November, and we young ones had as yet no idea of retiring for the winter. On fine days, especially when frost was in the air, we were as frisky as ever, and had magnificent games among the heaps of dead leaves. It was the [120] greatest fun possible to take running headers from the long, bare tips of the beech boughs, falling on the soft, elastic cushion of leaves, in which one completely disappeared, just as a water-rat does in a pond. Under the leaves the ground was still thick with ripe beech-mast, so there was no need as yet to infringe upon our winter stores. There were pine-cones, too, by way of change, and fallen hazel-nuts, though these were getting scarce now that not only we but our distant cousins, the dormice, had been getting in winter stores.

Our own preparations for winter were quite complete. The last piece of work had been to line our home thoroughly with dry moss, and partially to stop up the entrance which had been so large that, when the wind blew that way, it made cold draughts whistle round inside. For this work we young ones collected the material while mother did the building, and Rusty and I gathered useful hints for the future.

All these days, when the air was still, or the wind blew from the direction of the Hall, we could hear in the distance the clink, clink of axes—a novel sound in this country-side, where the Squire and his forebears before him had had the true Englishman’s love of timber, and thought not twice but many [121] times before cutting down a single tree. But for a long time our solitude was not invaded, except by a few school-children picking late blackberries or nuts, or a labourer returning from his work along the wood-path. Then, one fine morning early in November, when Rusty and I were having our usual morning scramble, the sharp report of a gun sent us skurrying to the nearest refuge, which happened to be a tall fir-tree not far from the coppice gate. Bang again!—this time closer. Rusty looked out but dodged back with great rapidity. He intimated to me that the young murderer from the Hall had appeared and that he, Rusty, didn’t mean to move until he disappeared.

Bang again! A cock pheasant came whirring up past us, rocketing high over the tops of the trees, and a second dose of shot, hopelessly too late, sent a shower of twigs scattering from the tree just over our heads, and made us cower the closer against the trunk.

Steps came trampling past beneath us, and the firing became fast and furious. Every living thing took cover, or, if it had wings, departed as fast as they would carry it. The racket did not last long, and, as we found out later, the bag was not a large one. The Hall’s new tenants were not good shots, [122] and their new keeper, who had supplanted old Crump, did not know his business. As soon as the noise had died away we made the best of our way home, and found mother and Hazel, who had been lying close at home, extremely relieved to see us safe back once more.

Several times again before the winter the solitude of our coppice was invaded by the same party—the little stout man with the mutton-chop whiskers, his white-collared, pasty-faced son, and a tall keeper with a ginger beard. But after their first two visits none of the coppice people paid much attention to them beyond sitting tight in cover. The very pheasants—stupid fellows as they are—made jeering remarks about their inability to kill anything unless it happened to be fool enough to sit still to be fired at.

What did cause much more serious alarm was the rumour of a new and most dangerous enemy. The news came to us through a strange squirrel whom Rusty and I met one cold bright morning rummaging among the deep beech-leaves for a breakfast of mast. The poor fellow had a nasty wound at the back of his neck, and looked thin and miserable. He was so nervous that when he heard us coming he bolted wildly up a tree. We called [123] to him, and, looking rather ashamed of himself, he came back and met us.

‘What’s up?’ inquired I. ‘We’re not going to eat you. Come down and finish your breakfast.’

‘Ugh! don’t talk of eating!’ he answered in trembling tones. ‘You wouldn’t if you’d been so nearly eaten as I was three days ago;’ and he showed us his wound.

‘I’m not quite fool enough to sit on the ground and let a fox catch me,’ retorted the stranger. ‘It was a wild-cat.’

‘Wild-cat!’ exclaimed I. ‘Why, I’d no idea there were any left in these parts!’

‘No more had I,’ put in Rusty. ‘Mother says that a very old squirrel once told her that his father had seen a wild-cat, but that’s ever so many years ago. There are none left now.’

‘None left!’ returned the other angrily. ‘Very well; all I say is, wait. Your turn will come.’

‘Wait a minute. I want to hear all about it. Anyone can see you’ve been badly mauled. [124] Come with us up into our beech-tree, and I’ll find you a better breakfast than this half-rotten stuff; then you can tell us all about it.’

After a little more persuasion, he cooled down and accompanied us, and we all heard his story. It appeared that a week before he and one of his brothers had visited a Spanish chestnut they knew of at some distance from their home, which was in a large wood about a mile away, when, without the slightest warning, a great cat had sprung out of a patch of dead bracken close by, and with two quick swings of her terrible paws bowled them both over. Our new acquaintance owed his life to the fact that he had seen the enemy coming just in time to duck, and, consequently, had received the full force of the blow upon his neck instead of his head. But even so he had been stunned, and had recovered his senses only in time to see the savage beast running rapidly away among the underbrush with the dead body of his brother swinging limp between her powerful jaws. Knowing that she would come back for him, he had summoned all his remaining energies, and succeeded in climbing into a pollard oak and hiding in a knot-hole in its spreading top. From there he watched the robber return, moving noiselessly across the dead grass and leaves on [125] velvet-cushioned paws; noted the grey coat, stiff and coarse, the short tail, broad head, and small, close-rounded ears; had seen her search snuffing among the dead leaves, moving round and round in impatient circles, and shivered in his terror. But fortune was good to him, for after a time, which seemed endless, the cat, tired of her vain search, had at last turned, and with tail straight up padded softly back the way she had come. But it was not until nearly sunset that the wounded squirrel had made shift to crawl home, sore and aching, and there he had lain for two whole days. Alas! the tale of his sorrows was not yet told. On the third day his mother went out about midday to bring in some food, and never came back! Towards evening his father had gone to search for her, and returned at dark with the terrible tidings that the same stealthy fiend had captured her too. He had found some gnawed bones and her brush—that was all!

By this time the whole wood was in a state of panic. Rabbits, pheasants, and squirrels, all had suffered alike. The cat, it was said, was only one of a family who had taken up their abode in an immense hollow hornbeam in the centre of the wood. A regular reign of terror set in, and our [126] new friend, whose name was Cob, together with his father and his sister, the only survivors of the family, had decided to emigrate before worse happened.

We were all very sorry for the unfortunates. A worse time for squirrels to emigrate could hardly be imagined, for, of course, they had been forced to abandon all their winter stores and their nest, which had been strengthened against the cold weather. It was now too late in the season to collect a proper provision, and they stood a very good chance of starving if the winter should turn out a severe one. You will understand that we young ones, who had never yet been through a winter, were not able to realize quite how serious the misfortune was; but mother, who had seen the snows of three years, thoroughly comprehended the situation, and at once bade Rusty and myself do all we could to assist the unlucky family. Next morning we paid a visit to their temporary quarters, a large untidy hole in a hollow oak, and after first showing them where the last few nuts were to be found in the ditch below the hazel-bushes, set to work to discover better quarters for them. Of course, by this time we knew our coppice from end to end. There was not a tree we were not familiar with from root [127] to topmost branch. But after a good deal of consideration and discussion, we decided that the best refuge was another hole lower down in our own tree. It was one that mother had thought of seriously, after father’s death, as a residence for ourselves, but had decided against as being rather too small. However, we found on making a thorough examination that the wood on one side of it was so rotten that it could easily be dug out, and then the hollow would be amply large enough to accommodate the three wanderers. They, on their part, were devoutly grateful for the trouble we had taken on their behalf, and thanked us most cordially. Cob’s sister, whose name was Sable, a little, dark-furred creature, quite touched me by her shyly-expressed gratitude.

Autumn was now far advanced, and we had had several very sharp frosts. Except for the oaks, to which their dead, dry leaves still clung, the trees were bare. Rusty and I took our morning exercise among the denser foliage of the evergreen firs and larches, of which there were fortunately a good number in our coppice. I say fortunately because, where these trees are handy a squirrel need never starve even in the hardest weather. Not that squirrels are given to starving. Unless owing to [128] some quite unforeseen and unusual accident we are as well able to fend for ourselves even in the hardest winters as any inhabitants of the woodland.

The migrant birds had all left long ago, and the woods were quieter than of old. Not that there was not plenty of life remaining. The wood-pigeons still pecked among the beech leaves for mast; great tits and tomtits moved restlessly among the branches of our beech; flights of long-tail tits talked softly in the tops of the evergreens. Finches of many kinds—greenfinch, chaffinch, bullfinch, and even a few hawfinches, feasted on the hawthorn berries which hung thickly on the bare hedges, and began to take their toll of the fast-reddening holly. The privet and mountain-ash berries were gone long ago. These form the pet dessert of bird life, and are always cleaned up almost before they are ripe. So, too, was the sticky scarlet fruit of three gnarled old yews which stood in a little group all by themselves just beyond the rabbit-warren where the ground sloped towards the brook. Thrushes and blackbirds still visited their’ dark recesses, but more from habit than for any other reason.

Redwings and fieldfares fed in small flocks across the open ground, and shared with the [129] starlings and rooks the insect food of which they are so fond. The grass, no longer green but browned at the tips by frost and sodden from lack of sun, had ceased to grow, and feed was becoming short. I noticed that the cattle had taken to the higher ground instead of feeding along the brook; and that in the mornings when the frost-dew hung thick on the meadows, they wandered along the hedgerows, picking drier mouthfuls from the bank.

Some of our acquaintances had already retired for the winter. The hedgehogs were no longer to be seen making leisurely progress along the hedge-banks; they had all gone to sleep deep in leaf-lined crevices under the blackthorn roots; the dormice had followed their example, and curled themselves up for the winter in their delicately woven globes of grass and fibre. Mr. Dormouse is a heavier sleeper than we are, yet not above rousing for a square meal if the sun comes out warm and bright on a January morning. Snakes, slow-worms and lizards had all disappeared long ago, and would not move again for more than four months. I had not seen a bat for a fortnight, and I fancy the last of them had joined his comrades hung up in the church-tower or in Farmer Martin’s [130] thatched barn, stiff and motionless like dead game in the Hall larder.

Field-mice showed when the sun came out, dodging about on the surface of the dead leaves, apparently very busy, and yet never appearing to accomplish anything in particular. But they would soon follow most of the four-legged denizens of the coppice into winter-quarters, and leave the bare woods to the birds, the rabbits, and the cunning, hungry fox.

Of the wild-cat, the terror of the neighbouring wood, we heard nothing at all; and though I often talked of her with Cob and his sister, we did not imagine that there was much chance of her raiding so far from home. Cob gradually recovered from his wound, and, as food was still fairly plentiful, he grew fat and strong again.

Nothing occurred to disturb the even tenor of those last few days before winter set in in earnest; and the silence that reigned in the coppice was broken only by the cheery song of the robin, the low twitter of the tits, and occasionally the clear pipe of the missel-thrush. Then came a day when the wind turned to the north-east, and a new biting, penetrating chill filled the bleak air.

For the first time in my experience mother absolutely refused to leave the nest.

‘Children,’ she said drowsily, ‘it’s going to snow. I feel it in my bones. Close the door with moss and let us sleep.’

Pushing a bunch of moss into the opening, she curled herself into the deepest, darkest corner of our snug retreat, and almost instantly fell into a sleep deeper than ever we had seen or dreamed of. Squirrels, you must know, are never still for more than a few minutes at a time in their ordinary sleep. I know that, whenever I wake at night, and that is very often, especially now that I am no longer young, some of my family are always moving their legs, twitching about like a dog that lies before the fire and hunts rabbits in its dreams. But this was a different thing, this sleep of mother’s—she lay like a dead thing on her side, her splendid brush curled round and over her, and, as we watched, her breathing seemed to slow until it became almost imperceptible.

We, too, felt strangely drowsy; but yet, with all the curiosity of youth, would not yield to it, so anxious were we to see this snow of which we had heard so often. The wind whistled in stronger and stronger gusts, making weird wailing sounds among [132] the bare branches; the sky, already one uniform mass of greyish cloud, grew duller and thicker, while up to windward a darkness like that of the winter twilight began to cover the land. Rusty and I, peering out through a small hole in the moss, saw the great trees bending and swaying in the increasing blast, while the dead leaves raised by the wind rustled and rattled in brown clouds along the ground below. Then suddenly, and as if by magic, the whole air was swarming with little white atoms, which whirled and fluttered silently in a mad dance. Thicker and thicker they came till the sky was blotted out, and even the trees close by were nearly hidden behind the waving white veil. All along the eastern edges of the beech-tree limbs lines of pure white appeared and grew, while the dry leaves below stopped their rustling as they vanished, hidden beneath a carpet whiter than fallen hawthorn petals. To us, who had never seen the like before, it was a wonderful sight, and we gazed and gazed as if we should never tire. But gradually the drowsiness of the snow-sleep came upon us and mastered us, and, whether we would or no, closed our eyes. Rusty slipped limply back, and lay like a dead thing beside the quiet forms of Hazel and my mother. I remember [133] vaguely pushing back the plug of moss into position, and then I, too, fell back and sank away into a long, delicious, dreamless slumber.

It may have been a day, or a week, or, for all I know, a month before I woke again. My sleep had been so deep that for a full minute I was quite unable to realize where I was or what had happened, and I lay contentedly still in that pleasant, dreamy state between sleep and wakefulness. Then my eye was caught by a tiny brilliant sunbeam, which, striking through some minute interstice in the mossy door, made a little path of golden light in which little motes of dust danced gaily across our hollow retreat.

Slowly recollection returned, and with it a feeling of perfectly ravenous hunger. Struggling up out of the deep hollow in my mossy bed into which I had sunk, I stretched, yawned, and, looking round, saw Rusty with one eye open gazing at me with a drowsy, puzzled expression. Mother and Hazel were still wrapped in deepest sleep.

I barked to wake Rusty; but he only blinked at me without speaking, until at last I leant over and nipped his ear. That woke him.

‘Weasel take you, Scud!’ he growled, starting up. ‘Your teeth are sharp.’

‘Come to think of it, so am I,’ he said, stretching and yawning in his turn. ‘Let’s go and get some grub.’

‘Hadn’t we better wake mother and Hazel?’ I suggested. But Rusty thought not, since they were so sound asleep. Standing up on my hind-legs, I pulled away the plug of moss that closed the entrance, and sprang out, with Rusty close at my heels. What a sight met our eyes! Even hunger was forgotten in amazement. The rays of the morning sun shining from a sky of clearest, palest blue were reflected back from one universal dazzle of white. Below us the ground was an even plain of snow, which had covered up and hidden grass, dead fern, fallen branches, ant and mole heaps—all the irregularities to which our eyes were accustomed—under its deep smooth carpet. From the bare branches of the beeches and oaks the snow had melted and fallen away, but the evergreen boughs still bent under heavy loads, from which in places long, transparent icicles drooped. It was freezing hard, for the surface of the snow sparkled with crystals of ice, which shone more brilliantly even [135] than dewdrops in the slanting rays. No breath of air stirred under the cloudless heavens, and the wood had a new stillness which was almost awe-inspiring.

But, oh, the air! Cold as it was, it had a dry tingle which set the blood fairly racing in our veins, and every moment increased our already ravenous hunger. Recovering from our amazement at the strange novelty of all around us, we bounded off together, intent on a store of beech-mast which lay beneath a twisted root of our own old beech.

It was a queer sensation, that first landing upon the snow. So hard frozen was it that our light weights made no impression upon it whatsoever. You would have needed the skill of a fox to find our tracks. Rusty was the first to reach the spot where we had made our store.

‘Snakes’ eyes and adders’ tongues!’ he exclaimed—Rusty was sadly given to the use of bad language—‘this white stuff has covered it all up, and I’m hungry enough to eat a sprouting acorn.’

‘Dig, you duffer!’ I answered him, and together we set to work, our sharp claws sending the crisp snow flying in clouds behind us. Suddenly the [136] crust gave way, and we both tumbled through, one on top of the other, into a good sized hollow beneath. At first Rusty was much annoyed, considering it all my fault. However, as soon as he discovered that we were actually on top of our larder, he recovered, and began with all speed to scratch out the mast from the nooks and corners in which it had been stored.

Some people will tell you that a squirrel never hides two nuts in the same place, but this is not quite the fact. As I have said before, we all have a very natural objection to piling a whole score of nuts or other provender together in one place; for then, if any marauder does come along, he naturally gets the whole lot. But it must not be imagined that a separate hiding-place is made for each single nut or acorn. No; when we discover a good place for a larder, such as the hollow I am now speaking of, we often put quite a quantity of food into it, poking each separate morsel into a different crack or corner.

That was a royal feast. I am quite certain that neither Rusty nor I had ever been so hungry before in the whole of our short lives; and this makes me suspect that we had been asleep for at least a fortnight, or possibly more. At last Rusty, after a [137] vain rummage in the furthest corner of the hollow, turned on me:

‘Well, you are a good one!’ I retorted, laughing. ‘I don’t mind betting you a chestnut that you’ve eaten more than me.’

‘Anyhow, there’s nothing left here,’ replied Rusty in a very aggrieved tone. ‘At this rate our stores won’t last long.’

‘There is any amount left,’ I told him, ‘and it seems to me that travelling is safer and better than ever. We’ll go round and hunt up some of those hazel-nuts under the hedge next time.’

‘All very well if this weather lasts,’ grumbled my brother, who always loved a grievance. ‘But suppose it melts. Mother said it often did. Then the grass will be all wet and beastly, and the ditch probably full of water. Or suppose more snow falls; then everything will be covered up.’

‘’Pon my fur, you’re as bad as a frog!’ I retorted. ‘Never was such a squirrel to croak. Come along out of this dark hole. I want some exercise.’

As we crawled out a bark hailed us from above, and there was Cob sitting out on a low branch over our heads.

‘Yes, I’ve had some mast; but we haven’t much, so I thought of going over to the fir-trees and looking for some cones.’

‘Right you are. We’ll come too. I’m still hungry enough to eat the most turpentiny cone in the coppice.’

So the three of us scuttled off across the crisp surface, and after satisfying ourselves with pine-kernels and a little of the inner bark from the branch tips by way of dessert, proceeded to rouse the wood with a thorough good scamper. We had the whole place quite to ourselves except for the birds. The wood-pigeons seemed as cheerful as usual, and the tits were busy pecking along the branches. But I must say I felt sorry for the robins, the thrushes, and blackbirds, and most of the other feathered creatures. The poor things seemed to have no life left in them. They sat huddled up in the sunshine with their feathers all fluffed out, till they looked twice as big as usual, but evidently they were all pretty hungry. Birds, you know, do not suffer much from cold directly, but when there is hard frost, and especially when frozen snow covers the ground, they have to go on [139] very short commons. Those that feed on the grubs that live in tree trunks do well enough, and, of course, the sparrows and finches visit the rick and farm yards, and so provide for themselves. It is the berry and worm-eating birds who are worst off in weather of this kind. The hips and haws do not last long, and in really severe frost the holly berries also disappear, leaving only such untempting food as the hard dark ivy berries. Worse than all is the lack of water, and I fancy as many birds perish from thirst during a long frost as from all other causes put together.

When the low sun began to drop towards the west the cold increased, and we three hurried home and went to sleep again. But a day or two later the same brilliant sun called us again, and this time we resolved to pay our promised visit to the hedge by the hazel bushes, where we had buried the first of our nuts. At our special request Cob accompanied us. He, good fellow, as I discovered, was half-starving himself, in order to keep a supply for his sister and father, in case they woke up, so I consulted Rusty, and we agreed that we would take him with us and stand him a good feed out of our nut-store.

When we reached the place, we found, much [140] to our disgust, that the ditch was quite full of snow, which had drifted in from the field. There was nothing for it but to begin a regular quarrying job, and very hard work we found it. Cob worked like a mole, and but for his useful assistance we should hardly have succeeded in reaching the treasure stored beneath the old thorn stump. As it was, we must have been digging fully two hours before we at last hit upon the right spot, and what with the keen air and the hard work we were pretty sharp-set by the time the plump brown beauties were unearthed.

‘Great water rats!’ exclaimed Rusty, driving his strong front teeth through the glossy shell of his first nut, and jerking away the pieces with quick, hungry tugs. ‘This is fine! All the sun and none of the wind. Just the place for a good feed and a rest.’

‘All the same, I hate being on the ground,’ said Cob, uneasily glancing round at the steep walls of snow which surrounded the little white pit which we had dug, and at the bottom of which we sat feasting.

‘What’s to hurt us here? A weasel wouldn’t trust himself in this dazzle of snow, and foxes [141] don’t prowl in the daytime, let alone in a sun like this.’

‘Oh, I know it’s foolish,’ answered Cob humbly. ‘But I’ve been that way ever since the time that I had that escape from——’

His voice died away in a sharp choking gasp. Looking round in some surprise, I saw him staring upwards, a frozen horror in his wide eyes. Following his glance, I saw glaring down upon us through the hedge two cruel green orbs set in a wide grey face. It did not need the short ears, the stiff whiskers, or the rows of sharp white teeth, bared in a hungry grin, to tell me that I was looking upon the terror of the woods, the wild-cat of Merton Spinney.

The awful head was hardly a yard away. Its owner had crawled up unseen on the far side of the hedge—that is, inside the coppice, for we were in the ditch outside—and having got wind of us, was endeavouring to creep through unseen and unheard, so as to pounce upon us unawares. It was the lucky chance of our having Cob with us, whose hearing was acute beyond either Rusty’s or my own, that gave us that needful second’s warning. Without it there is no possible doubt but that I should never have been alive to tell this story.

One often says ‘quick as a cat,’ but it would be just as correct or more so to say ‘quick as a squirrel’; and I am quite certain that hardly half a second elapsed between the moment I set eyes on the cat’s head emerging from the briers and the bound which landed me six feet out of the hole along the ditch to the left. With the best intentions in the world no one of us could have helped the others, but would only have sacrificed his life uselessly if he had tried to. Thinking over the matter since, I have often wondered why the cat did not pounce straight upon Cob, who has confessed that he was so badly frightened that he never jumped until both Rusty and I were clear out of the hole. The fact remains that she did not do so. A rustle of quickly moved branches, and then a series of soft, padding sounds behind me, proved that I had been selected as her dinner—an attention which, as you may imagine, I could very well have dispensed with.

I was badly frightened—there is no use denying it—but I did succeed in keeping my wits about me. In the open, of course, I was no match for her. Her springs were of tremendous length, far greater than mine, for a cat—like all her tribe—can travel at tremendous speed for a short distance. Aware [143] of this, I turned sharp back through the hedge to my right—only just in time, for her cruel teeth snapped not an inch from my brush as I dived through the heart of the hedge. Being smaller than she, I gained a few yards in the passage through the close-set branches, and tore off across the frozen snow at top speed towards the nearest tree. There was no time to pick or choose; I had to take the first that came, and here luck was against me, for it was a tall but slender birch which happened to stand some little distance apart, the nearest tree to it being a beech some fifty feet away.

Up I went with a rush, again missing death by a sort of miracle, for my enemy launched herself at me like a shot from a catapult, striking the bark not the length of my body below my brush. She clung there a moment, and then fell back with a baffled snarl, and for a moment I thought she had given it up. But I suppose she was very hungry, or perhaps too enraged at her first failure to abandon the chase, for the next moment she drew off a few yards, and, coming at the tree with a rush, clattered up it, her sharp talons ringing against the rough bark.

Naturally my first impulse was to run out towards the beech and jump into it. Could I have done this I should have been safe, for the cat would have [144] had to return to the ground in order to reach the beech-tree. But when I gained the outer end of the birch branch I found to my horror that the gap was full three yards—a terrible jump to risk at any time, but almost certainly fatal if I missed my footing, for before I could recover myself the hungry brute would most infallibly have leaped down upon me.

Now I was in a tight place indeed, for already the lithe, grey form of my cruel foe was stealing out along the branch to which I clung, her heavier body causing it to sway and vibrate beneath me. It seemed as though I must take the jump, and chance it. Suddenly I noticed that the cat had stopped. She was lying close along the branch, her hungry eyes glaring at me, her pink tongue slowly licking her lips. It was clear that she was afraid that if she came further the bough would not bear her weight.

This gave me a moment’s breathing-space, time to glance round and see if any other avenue of escape was open. At once I noticed another birch bough to my left, and a little higher, but still within fairly easy distance; and on the impulse I sprang, landing full upon it. At this the cat, with another blood-curdling snarl, turned quickly back towards [145] the trunk, but before she could reach it I was off into the very topmost twigs of the birch. Here I felt sure that I was safe, at any rate for the time, for I did not believe the cat would venture so high. To my horror she set herself to follow, and, taking such risks as I never dreamed she would dare, she came slowly but stealthily on my track. All I could do was to crawl out to the thinnest tip that would bear me, cling there, and wait.

With horrible pertinacity she followed to the very top of the trunk, and, stationing herself in the last fork that would bear her, crouched there, apparently determined to wait and starve me out.

I was at my wits’ end, for there seemed no possible avenue of escape. I might remain where I was, you will say, and trust to tiring her out. True; but supposing she refused to be tired out? Remember, it was freezing hard. She could endure the cold; I could not. Sooner or later my muscles would grow numb, and I should fall either on to the ground or right into her jaws. Another thing (I may as well confess it), I was frightened—so badly frightened that this in itself was actually paralysing my powers. After a few minutes I began to feel as though some unexplainable impulse [146] was forcing me to turn and gaze into those fierce green eyes. I had sense enough to be aware that, once I did this, it was all up. I should become fascinated, and drop right into the cruel jaws that waited so hungrily below.

Against this suicidal impulse I fought with all my might, but in spite of my best efforts it grew upon me until I began to feel that I could endure the torture no longer. It seemed as though it would be a relief to put an end to it, even if it meant ending my life at the same time. The cat seemed to know this, too, and lay below me, stretched at full length, still as the leafless branch on which she crouched.

I was actually turning; in another second I should have yielded as weakly as a miserable house mouse, when suddenly a sharp bark resounded from the beech-tree near by. The cat stirred, and for the moment I was saved.

I looked in the direction of the sound. There was Rusty only a few yards away in the beech. Cob was close behind him. Rusty cried out to me sharply:

‘Don’t be a fool! You’ve done much bigger things than that. Here’s our plan: We’ll start barking at the cat and take her attention off you while you drop. It’s a possible jump from the bough below across to this tree, and you’ll have plenty of time, for the cat will have to climb down the trunk. Do you understand?’

I had been in such a queer dazed condition that I had never even noticed the possible avenue of escape which Rusty pointed out. Looking down, it seemed a perfectly terrific drop. Indeed, it was something like twenty feet, and if I missed it there was another thirty to the frozen snow beneath.

A chorus of perfectly frantic barks and squeaks broke out at once. I heard my enemy move uneasily, and, summoning all my courage, I let myself go and dropped.

I struck the branch beneath, fair and square. Alas! its twigs were thin, elastic, and slippery with frozen snow. A wild grasp with all four paws [148] failed to stop me. Down I went to the ground below.

Oddly enough, this was where my luck turned. If I had fallen on to the hard frozen surface I should almost certainly have been too stunned to move at once. As it was, I alighted on a spot where only a thin coating of powdery snow covered a deep soft cushion of dead leaves. Before the cat was half-way down the birch trunk I was in the beech-tree.

‘Good squirrel, Scud!’ cried my brother, in tones of such warm praise as absolutely astonished me, for I was intensely ashamed of myself for my cowardice, and for having had such a tumble.

However, there was no time to waste. With Rusty leading, we were away through the beech into the next tree, and so across the coppice at full speed. The cat, lashing her tail with rage, followed for a while across the snow beneath, and once or twice started climbing again after us. But we were most careful to keep in the thickest part of the wood, and whenever she climbed we merely jumped to the next tree. Soon she tired of this—for her—unprofitable pursuit, and stole softly away.

Not until we had watched her out of the coppice and away along the hedges in the direction of Merton Spinney did we venture to return to our respective homes, where we shut ourselves up snugly and went to sleep again.

After the coming of the grey terror you may imagine how careful we were. We took no more risks of any kind, and when we went out for food invariably took the precaution first to post a sentinel in the nearest tall tree to give good notice of danger. The cat came no more, but all the same, this precaution in all probability saved the lives of Rusty and myself. The snow had lasted a long time, but as the weather was sunny and bright we were out most days. One morning, as my brother and I were hunting out some nuts in the centre of a thick part of the hedge, we heard Cob’s cry of warning from an oak near by. Neither of us had any idea from which direction the danger was approaching, but we both were at the top of the hedge in the twinkling of an eye. Only just in time, for almost as we left the ground a gaunt red beast bounded on to the very spot which we had left. He was so close that I distinctly [151] heard his sharp teeth click together like the snapping of a steel trap. He looked up with a hungry gleam in his eyes, but quickly recognizing that he had missed his meal, Master Reynard wasted no time in vain regrets, and trotting sharply off down along the hedge, soon disappeared in the distance. A fox is not particular in snowy weather. All is nuts that comes to his hungry maw.

Yet we were fated to hear once more of our deadliest foe. The snow had gone; cold rain and heavy gales succeeded it, and then one day dawned so mild and soft and sunshiny that even mother and Hazel woke.

‘Come, children,’ said mother; ‘we will go and get some breakfast. Open the door, Scud.’

I was in the very act of doing so, when the heavy report of a gun at some distance made us all jump back. A minute later there was a rattle of heavy claws up the trunk of our beech-tree. The sound was unmistakable.

Right past our closed door came the sound, and up into the boughs above. We could only crouch as still as four mice. If the grey terror found the [152] nest—and her keen nose would tell her that quickly enough—we were absolutely at her mercy.

‘What’s the good? She’s above us. She’d be certain to get one of us before we could clear,’ I answered.

All was quiet again, but our suspense was almost unendurable. Ha! what was that? I could distinctly hear heavy footsteps on the ground below. They seemed to be circling round the base of the tree. Then they stopped, and absolute silence reigned.

Crash! A tremendously heavy report, followed by an unearthly scream. Bump, bump! Something was falling from bough to bough above; then a heavy thud.

Curiosity could be restrained no longer, and, lifting the moss a little, I poked my nose through. I could have barked for sheer joy, for there was the tall, ginger-whiskered keeper in the very act of picking up a blood-stained grey form which lay limp and lifeless on the dead leaves at the foot of the tree. The grey terror was no more!

Nothing worth chronicling happened during the rest of that winter. Early March, I remember, was cold out of the common, so we did not emerge from our winter home until later than usual. At last the frost departed, and one morning I woke up, and, instead of waiting as usual for Rusty, sallied out alone. It was exquisitely bright and sunny, with a soft feeling in the air. A gentle westerly breeze stirred the twigs, all red at the tips with new buds, and drove across the blue sky soft rolls of light, smoky cloud. Tiny spikes of green were pushing out through the withered tufts of last year’s grass, and the birds were singing as I had never heard them sing before.

As I ran along the lowest branch of the beech, whom should I meet quite suddenly but Cob’s sister, little Sable. She looked at me in her pretty shy way, murmuring a gentle ‘Good morning,’ and it suddenly occurred to me how extremely pretty she was. I wondered vaguely why I had never before noticed the dainty grace of her shape, the softness of her coat, and the jewel-like brilliancy of her eyes. We sat still, gazing at one another for quite a minute; and then suddenly, with a roguish flick of her brush, she bounded past me and away to another branch, where she stopped short and [154] looked back over her shoulder with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. After her I dashed in full pursuit, but she was gone again before I could reach her.

In those days I rather fancied myself at running and jumping, but I don’t mind saying that I never had a harder chase to catch any squirrel in my life. She was so extraordinarily quick at dodging and turning that we were both quite out of breath when at last I came up with her.

That was the beginning of my courting of my dear wife, but I can tell you that I had no easy task before me. She was the most coquettish little thing, and just when I was beginning to whisper tender speeches in her pretty pointed ears, off she would go with a flick and a spring, and lead me such a dance that I would angrily declare to myself that she did not care a bit for me. You see, I was very young in those days, and not learned in the ways of the fair sex. At other times she would hide herself in some cleft or knot-hole, and leave me to search for her by the hour; then, when at last I found her, she would say with an air of the greatest surprise:

There was worse to follow. One fine morning, some days later, Sable actually consented to come and play down on the grass. We were enjoying a fine game when, all of a sudden, a strange squirrel, one I had hardly seen before—he came from a family who lived quite at the other end of the coppice—appeared on the scene, and, running up to my lady as coolly as you please—

‘Good morning, Sable,’ he said, without so much as looking at me. ‘Won’t you come up to the fir-trees? I know where there are some specially tender shoots.’

‘Who in hazel-nuts are you?’ I inquired, coming up with my brush straight over my head and all my teeth showing. The beggar pretended not to see me, and began talking to Sable again. Well, if he didn’t see me he felt me, and pretty quickly, too. I went for him on the spot, rolled him over, and got my front teeth well home in his ear. For a minute it was hammer and tongs. We whirled round and round, the fur flying in every direction. He was strong, and snapped viciously, but I never let go, and though he marked me once, the end of it was that he was only too glad to break away and run. I chased [156] him for some distance, and then came back, only to find that Sable had calmly gone home. I was so cross with her that I left her alone for the rest of that day, sulking by myself up in the fir-trees. What made it worse was that Rusty came and laughed at me mercilessly.

‘You don’t catch me playing the fool like that,’ he jeered. ‘A bachelor life’s good enough for me, thank you.’

Next day Sable was as sweet as sugar, and we agreed to be married and set up house together.

The next great question was the location of our future home. During the past winter I had seen so plainly how great were the advantages of a hole in a trunk that I quite determined to find similar quarters. As I have said before, I knew the coppice from end to end, and it struck me that there was a beech-tree not far from the gate which might suit us. So off we went to have a look at it.

On the way we noticed two squirrels fighting savagely on the ground, with a third sitting demurely by, and watching the combat. I had seen half a dozen such fights in the past few days, and did not pay much attention, but Sable suddenly stopped and sat up straight.

I looked again, and to my utter astonishment, who should the topmost of the two be but my brother Rusty.

Rusty was a terrific fighter, and, indeed, we had not long to wait before his rival broke and ran for dear life, Rusty after him.

Everything went well that happy day. We found a hole high up in the beech-tree bole which, with a little hollowing out, made a simply perfect residence. It was close under a large branch, which gave splendid protection from the weather. We wasted no time in setting to work, and by evening had scraped out enough of its rotten sides to make a chamber about nine inches each way. Next day we lined it with dry leaves and grey moss, which we stripped from the lower part of the trunk.

But our labours were by no means at an end. Squirrels are rarely content with one residence, and my experience, short as it had been, had made me plainly understand the advantage of having several. Crossing over into a larch on the opposite [158] side of the path, we built a drey on a large flat bough at a good height above the ground. This was all of selected sticks, and was well roofed in. It had a hollow floor and a conical roof, the sticks composing the roof being carefully interlaced in order to keep out the rain. It had an entrance on the east side and a bolt-hole on the west, and to close the doors at night, or in cold weather, we provided plenty of moss and soft grass fibre to make stoppers. The only incident of note during these pleasant days was my getting a horrid fright through accidentally digging up a slow-worm which had not yet left its winter-quarters in the hedge bank where I was pulling up grass roots. Ever since my adventure with the viper I have had a perfect horror of snakes. Not, of course, that a slow-worm is a snake, or in any way dangerous, but still, it looks detestably like one.

It seemed odd at first, only two of us in our new home, instead of the four who had snuggled together during the long winter in the old beech-tree. But we were far too busy to be dull, and we often saw mother and the rest of our relations. Mother was very pleased with our match, and equally so with the two others in our family, for not only had Rusty found a wife, but Cob [159] and my sister Hazel had set up housekeeping together.

It used to amuse me, the air of proprietorship which Sable exhibited in our tree. I really believe that she considered the whole of it belonged to her, root, trunk, and branch. Any stranger squirrel who ventured to intrude had a bad time indeed. He or she was promptly chased off the premises without any ceremony whatever.

It was one day in April that our four babies were born. Ugly little beasts, I called them, quite hairless, blind and helpless. But when I ventured to remark as much to my wife there was a regular upset. You might hardly believe it, but she turned me out neck and crop, and for the next few days I never ventured home for more than a few minutes at a time. It was difficult even to persuade Sable to leave the little beggars long enough to take her meals. Early spring is none too easy a time for squirrels to find food in any case, and we were forced to subsist principally on the young shoots and bark of pine and fir trees. It is this habit which gets us such a bad name with keepers and foresters, but we do not do half so much damage as we are credited with.

‘Hulloa, Scud,’ he said. ‘You’re getting thin. Cares of matrimony, eh?’

‘They don’t appear to worry you very much, anyhow,’ I retorted. ‘How do you keep so fat?’

‘Oh, I find plenty of food,’ he answered lightly; but there was a sort of guilty air about him which puzzled me at the time.

A day or two later, when I caught him devouring a nestful of the little blue eggs of the hedge-sparrow, I understood.

Now, eating eggs is a thing which is considered by well-bred squirrels to be thoroughly bad form; but, after all, it was no business of mine. Rusty was old enough to take his own course, so I said nothing about it. I have often blamed myself since, for one bad habit leads to another; and no doubt my brother’s indulgence in eggs that spring was the first step which led to the sad end which afterwards befell him.

To return to my own affairs—our kittens grew with astonishing rapidity, and once they opened their eyes began to prove decidedly more interesting. They were three bucks and a doe. In a month they were half as big as myself, and their hair had grown to quite a respectable length. Being April kittens, their coats were entirely different [161] from the one which I had worn during my first summer. Mine had been reddish-brown, and I had had no tufts on my ears, but our young ones had greyish-brown coats like the winter one which I was just beginning to discard, and they wore smart little tufts on each ear as well as hair on their palms. One of them, however, was much darker than the other three.

Sable was the best of mothers, and took the greatest care of her young family, keeping them beautifully neat and clean. Before long they grew big enough to be taken out of the nest, and then began a very busy time for their mother and myself. Jumping and climbing lessons were the order of the day. Remembering how well my mother had instructed me, I took the greatest pains to show them how to spring from one branch to another, how to swing by one hand or foot, to fall without hurting themselves, and how to hide instantly when any danger approached. Sometimes we took them down on to the turf below, which was always kept close cropped by the rabbits, and the children enjoyed nothing better than rolling about there, tumbling head over heels, and indulging in all kinds of wild antics.

It amused me to see how inquisitive they all [162] were. Curiosity is, of course, the besetting sin of the whole of our tribe, and many a one of us has it brought to grief. Anything the least bit out of the way had to be examined at once, and no amount of reproof ever seemed to restrain them. Curiosity very nearly cost Walnut—for so I called the little dark chap, who was my special favourite—his life.

One morning I had been over to the other end of the coppice, to a horse-chestnut tree which I knew of. Young horse-chestnut buds, I may remark, make as good a breakfast as almost anything I know of. When I came back I found Sable running about on the ground in a most distracted fashion. So soon as she caught sight of me she came flying to tell me that Walnut was missing. She was so excited that I had some difficulty at first in making out the facts of the case. It appeared that she had had the whole family out for a game on the grassy sward which bordered the wood path when, all of a sudden, she became conscious that only three of them were in sight. Walnut had completely disappeared. The others explained that they had been playing hide and seek, and that Walnut had been hiding. They had looked everywhere for him, but could neither find nor hear him.

Sending them all three back home out of mischief, their mother had set to work to make a vigorous search, but after half an hour’s hard hunting, had found no sign of her missing son. I joined her; and we began to quarter out the ground systematically, she taking one side of the path, I the other. But not so much as a hair of Walnut’s brush could we see; and when the shadows had nearly reached their shortest, I began to feel almost certain that some prowling weasel had caught our poor son. At last it occurred to me that the adventurous young rascal might have gone through the hedge into the open field, and I myself crossed the hedge and ditch. I think I have mentioned before that near the coppice gate on the meadow side was a strip of sandy ground with patches of hawthorn, blackberry bushes, and gorse, which was riddled with rabbit holes. As I wandered sadly across this, occasionally stopping to give a slight bark or a stamp, I suddenly heard a distinct reply. In great delight I hurried forward to a thick clump of gorse from which the sound seemed to come. But when I reached the spot there was no sign of life. I stamped again, and this time there was no doubt whatever about the answer. But it came from underground! Then I knew what had happened. Walnut had [164] evidently tumbled into a rabbit-earth and was unable to get out. Very soon I found the hole, and there, sure enough, in the darkness some feet below me I saw my son’s eyes.

The burrow was a wide and very steep one, and its sides were of extremely soft and loose sand. It was quite plain that Walnut, having once fallen in, could get no footing to jump or scramble out; indeed, so he told me in tones that shook with fatigue and fright.

I called up Sable at once, and she, clever creature that she is, suggested that the best thing to do was to throw down pieces of grass and stick in order to give Walnut a footing from which he might jump. It was a long operation, but we finished it at last, and our foolish son once more emerged to the light of day.

‘How, in the name of pine-cones, did you ever come to get into such a place?’ was my first angry question.

‘I saw something white sticking out of it, father,’ he replied very coolly, ‘and I wanted to find out what it was.’

‘I suppose I have,’ he answered, ‘but it didn’t strike me at the time.’

Things went very quietly and peacefully during the early part of that summer. There were no human intruders whatever. As I found out afterwards, the new people at the Hall had stopped all the old footpaths, including the field-path which led to the coppice gate. They had great ideas on the subject of high-farming and high-preserving, but for the present we luckily lived in comparative ignorance of these. One or two things certainly seemed strange. Almost all the hedges in the neighbourhood had been cut down and pleached during the winter, making the country-side look singularly bare. Also several grass fields had been ploughed up and planted with roots or wheat.

The ginger-haired keeper and a boy—his son, I believe—were often in the coppice, messing about among the undergrowth and collecting whole baskets full of pheasants’ eggs. Mother was horrified at this performance, but, as we found out later, they took them to the Hall to be hatched in incubators. I have spoken of the amount of timber-cutting which went on around the Hall. One day in the early spring a number of men invaded the coppice and cut away the underbrush [166] and tree branches, so as to make several open rides across the wood from end to end. We were annoyed to see so many good hazel-bushes destroyed, but as they did not cut down the heavy timber we were not particularly inconvenienced.

We owed that ginger-whiskered keeper a debt of gratitude for slaying our enemy, the grey cat, but some of his performances no self-respecting coppice-dweller could approve of. He began to set horrible gins and snares in every direction. So far as killing off the stoats and weasels went, this was all very well; but it was a sad and dreadful thing to see an unlucky brown owl, the foe of nothing except mice and such-like vermin, struggling miserably half the night in the foul jaws of a pole-trap, with both its legs broken. Jays and magpies suffered also. I had seen traps at the Hall, and took particular pains to point them out to my youngsters as objects to be avoided with the utmost care. Other young families were not so fortunate. One of Rusty’s promising sons was missed one day, and found by his mother with his head crushed between cruel iron teeth, stone dead. There is nothing in the world so barbarous as the steel-spring trap.

That spring and all the early summer were extraordinarily dry. The hay-crop was very short, but [167] of excellent quality, while the grain was curiously dwarfed. Many of the flowers came out before their time, particularly the white convolvulus and the purple scabious. The brook in the field, I remember, ran altogether dry, and failed to fill a large excavation which the new tenant of the Hall had had dug with the intention of making a fish-pond. I went to look at it one day, and found it a bare expanse of red clay, netted all over with deep cracks, in the largest and dampest of which a few small, unhappy frogs had found precarious refuge.

Mother told us that she had never seen weather like it before, and shook her head a good deal, prophesying that food would be as scanty during the coming autumn as it had been plentiful the previous year. Certainly there seemed good ground for her forebodings, for the oaks had hardly set any acorns, and there was little sign of mast upon the beech-trees. It looked as though the birds, also, would be likely to suffer, for the hips and haws dropped before setting from the drought, the hollies and yews had no berries, and the blackberry crop seemed as though it would be a complete failure.

Towards the end of July we had a spell of intense heat. We all took up our abode in our [168] summer drey, opening both doors in order to let the draught, when there was any, blow through, and never stirred out except in the early morning and late evening. We felt the heat severely; but, after all, were far better off than the ground creatures. The grass in the meadows outside the gate had turned quite brown, and the unlucky rabbits were forced to travel long distances to find grazing.

There are few things, by the bye, which a rabbit dislikes more greatly than venturing any considerable distance from his home. The poor young ones paid a heavy toll to the stoats and weasels during that famine-time, for the vermin had them at their mercy when the little chaps visited the hedgerows to look for a little greenstuff.

The birds ceased singing almost completely, and the only place where much bird-life was still to be seen in our neighbourhood was around the pool down at the end of the coppice. This was almost dry, but a few square yards of stagnant, shallow water still remained in the centre, surrounded by a wide space of mud dotted all over with the footprints of dozens of different species of birds, and not a few four-legged creatures as well.

It must have been about the twelfth day of the [169] heat, which turned out the most sultry I ever experienced in my life. The sun rose crimson in a crimson sky. No breath of air was abroad, and the leaves hung down straight without a flicker of movement. The coppice was uncannily silent, a silence broken only by the hum of insects, which rose drowsily through the foliage; the only moving things were butterflies, flaunting on painted wings, and a few lizards and snakes—reptiles for which no weather seems too hot.

All six of us lay out on the branches under the thickest shade we could find, tongues lolling out, too listless to trouble about food or even to talk. As the afternoon drew on, and the shadows lengthened towards the east, I suggested to Sable that we should go off in search of supper. I mentioned an oat-field just across the road, where I had an idea that the grain would be ripe enough to provide an easily-won meal.

But Sable said no; that it was still too hot for the children. That I had better go alone. If the oats were really ripe, we would all journey there next morning for breakfast. I never argue with my wife. My first week of wedded life taught me that such a proceeding is an entire waste of time and energy. So answering, ‘Very well, my dear,’ [170] I rose, stretching and yawning lazily, and went leisurely away towards my destination. After all, Sable was quite right When I reached the open, the sun still stung with hardly abated power, and the heat mist shimmered over the baking ground.

The oat-field had turned quite golden in the past few days, but it was pitiful to see how short was the straw, how light the heads, and how small the grain. I had it all to myself, and wandered about, picking out the heaviest heads and nibbling in leisurely fashion. Suddenly a low distant mutter of thunder boomed through the stagnant air, and it struck me that it might be wise to make for home. But before I could even reach the hedge there sounded a second and louder peal, and to my amazement a quarter of the northern sky was already swallowed by a huge mass of vapour, purplish-black in colour, and rimmed with a tumbling edge of boiling mist white as snow. The cloud was advancing with amazing rapidity, and as I sprang into a pollard oak at the corner of the hedge, to get a better view, it swallowed up the sun, and a sudden darkness fell upon the thirsty land. Then I saw that the deep bosom of the ponderous storm-cloud was laced by constant streaks of blue and silver fire. Such a sight [171] is not seen once in a generation of squirrels, and it so deeply interested me that for the moment I entirely forgot my intention of returning home, and sat there watching the gathering tempest with fascinated eyes.

A great tongue of blue flame licked downwards, and a moment later the thunder crashed in real earnest. There was a hoarse murmur in the far distance, and I saw the tree-tops, fields away across the level country-side, bend their tall heads as the first gust struck them. Presently a breath of air, cold, damp, and delicious, ruffled my fur, and, as the lightning flared again through the gloom, the first drop of rain, the size of a wren’s egg, struck me full in the face.

With a sudden start I realized that it was now too late to dream of returning, and that, if I wished to avoid the worst ducking of my life, I must seek shelter of some kind. Racing round the club-like top of the pollard I discovered a knot hole just large enough to hold me, and into this I forced my way—barely in time, for almost instantaneously the full force of the tempest was upon me. One gust of wind, so fierce that I felt the sturdy old oak quiver to its very roots, then a smashing downpour of hail. Not ordinary hail, [172] but lumps of ice as large as walnuts, which almost instantaneously levelled the field of oats flat with the ground, stripped the foliage from the trees, and danced into white drifts which lay inches deep against the hedge bank.

In between the hail clouds pennons of blue and white electric fire sprang and vanished; but the clamour of the pounding ice and the roar of the wind almost drowned the bellowing thunder. Closer and closer glared the lightning. The hail turned to rain, which fell in solid sheets. The sharp alternations between darkness and intense white light dazzled me so greatly that I could hardly see. I felt stunned, deafened, and horribly frightened.

Of a sudden the rain ceased absolutely. Instantly the whole world was bathed in white fire, and simultaneously the very heavens seemed to crack with a crash that, I think, actually stunned me for the moment. When I came to myself again it was raining almost as fiercely as ever. Flash and crash still followed for some minutes with hardly abated rapidity and intensity, but very soon it began to grow lighter. The storm, like most such, was of small area, and travelling so rapidly that it passed almost as quickly as it had come.

‘My poor Sable!’ I thought as I started [173] hurriedly homewards. ‘What a terrible fright she and the kittens will have had!’ As I crossed the road into the coppice signs of the storm were everywhere visible. The ground was covered with green leaves, among which the fast-melting hail-drifts gleamed oddly white. Every puddle brimmed, every branch dripped, and from the meadow below the voice of the swollen brook rose hoarsely.

I made along the hedge, crossed into the coppice trees, and rattled rapidly homewards among the soaking foliage. A slight smoke rising in the distance startled me, but it was without the slightest premonition of coming misfortune that I quickened my pace, uttering a slight bark to signal my approach.

There was no reply, and the last part of my way I covered at full speed. Reaching the nearest side of the path, I stopped, stared, staggered, and nearly lost my hold. It was from our own beech-tree that the smoke was rising. The ground below was strewn with white fragments of splintered wood. Down the near side of the trunk was a deep and wide new scar, blackened in the centre.

Shaking and trembling all over, I crept up. But, no, I cannot tell you what I saw. They had all taken refuge in the nest, and their death must have been mercifully instantaneous.

I think the shock of the disaster which robbed me at one fell swoop of wife, family, and home must have so completely stunned all my faculties that for a time I was unable to realize fully what had happened. I vaguely remember wandering round and about the still faintly-steaming ruins of the beech-tree, and calling piteously for Sable. Lucky for me that no enemy came near. Even a boy with a catapult could have made an easy prey of me, for all my senses were strangely dulled.

What first brought me to myself again was a low but familiar call which came from a small larch near by. Looking up, I could hardly believe my eyes when I caught sight of a small dark squirrel crouching on a branch at no great height from the ground shivering piteously.

I had felt so certain that the poor charred remains in my broken home comprised the whole [175] of my family. Was it possible that one of them had escaped, after all?

The poor little chap was so shockingly frightened that it was a long time before he could give me any clear account of how he had escaped. It appears that when my poor Sable saw the storm coming she at once set to work to take her family from the summer drey in the larch back to the hollow in the beech-trunk. She had been afraid, Walnut said, that the wind might blow the drey away. The jump across the path from tree to tree being too much for the youngsters, their mother had led the way down to the ground, ordering them all to follow her closely. Walnut, however, who had never seen a thunderstorm, and who, of course, did not realize the danger, thought it would be a fine joke to remain behind. In the hurry of the moment Sable, no doubt, never noticed until too late that he was not with the others, and when the storm broke the darkness at once became almost impenetrable.

When the hail began, Walnut, terrified almost out of his senses, wished most devoutly that he had not been such a fool, for great lumps of ice beat through the roof of the drey, and the tree swayed so frightfully that he expected every [176] moment the whole nest would be torn away and sent flying in fragments to the ground. However, it was too late for useful repentance, so he was forced to stay where he was. Then came the final fearful crash, and he remembered nothing more until he found himself clinging desperately to a bough a long way below the drey. When the weather cleared a little he had gone across to the beech-tree, but the smoke frightened him so that he had not dared to climb.

That night we two spent amid the dripping ruins in the larch. After the great heat the night breeze struck bitter cold, and we lay chilled and shivering, though too miserable to care much one way or the other. As soon as ever it grew light we left that part of the coppice for ever. I took my son to the extreme opposite end of the wood, and there had the good luck to stumble almost immediately upon possible quarters. These were in a vast oak, the boughs of which were beginning to decay from sheer old age. In the end of one branch, broken short off by some long past gale, was a deep hole which had evidently been formerly the habitation of a pair of stock-doves, for the remains of their nest were mouldering just inside the entrance. I had no spirit to build new [177] quarters, so with sore hearts we took possession of this shelter. Later, when I recovered my energies a little, I collected moss to line it, and made a dry and fairly comfortable residence.

Of the time that followed I will not speak. But for Walnut I should not have cared to live. As it was, I hardly took the trouble to eat, but sat and moped from day to day, until I grew thin and bony; my coat stared, and I looked like an old squirrel.

But time cures all sorrows, and happily for us, just as a squirrel’s life is shorter than a man’s, so much the more rapidly do his griefs pass away. Walnut grew from day to day, and became a strong, handsome fellow, well able to take care of himself. I was very proud and fond of him, and gradually his bright companionship did me good, and amid new scenes I began slowly to take a fresh interest in life.

Our new home was very near to the far end of the wood path, close to the other gate, which opened on to the road; the same road which ran past the Hall, across the brook, to the village beyond. As I have, I think, mentioned before, the new people at the Hall had closed this path, padlocked the gates, and posted notices forbidding [178] anyone from using the short cut. This course caused intense dissatisfaction among the villagers, and more than once I saw a passing labourer shake his fist in silent anger as he tramped along the dusty road past the locked, iron-spiked gate.

It was not long before we began to realize the reason of this proceeding. One day the ginger-whiskered keeper appeared outside the gate with a cart loaded with coops. Unlocking the gate, he and another man carried in the coops one by one. All our curiosity aroused, Walnut and I followed cautiously, and watched them lay the coops down in an open glade, not far from our oak tree, open them, and let loose dozens of young pheasants, which scuttled about without attempting to fly, tame as so many barn-door fowls. Next came a proceeding which interested me far more. Taking two bags from the cart, the keeper proceeded to scatter a quantity of Indian corn and other food about in the grass, then, picking up the coops, he departed.

So soon as ever they were gone, down swooped Walnut and myself, and, sending the frightened young pheasants scuttling in every direction, set to work on the corn. It was nearly a year since I had tasted this delicacy, which Jack Fortescue [179] used to give me as a treat in the old, quiet days at the Hall. The food was a godsend to us, for, as I have said, the supply of nuts, mast, and acorns, was of the shortest in our neighbourhood that season. I let my mother know, and she as well as Cob and my sister and their young ones were very soon on the spot. The pheasants got precious little of that meal, or of many subsequent ones which the keeper carefully brought day by day. However, they were not much to be pitied, for the supply of ants’ eggs was plentiful all over the coppice, and pheasants do better on ants’ eggs than on almost any artificial food they can be given.

I noticed that Rusty never troubled to come down to the pheasant food, though his wife and family of three sturdy sons regularly attended our daily free feed. I had my own suspicions, and these were confirmed when his wife told me that he was often away for whole days together. When she remonstrated with him he only laughed, and this made her seriously uneasy. Rusty had grown to be the largest and most powerful squirrel that I have ever seen in my life. No other in the wood could have stood up to him for a minute. He was also astonishingly brave and independent, and would venture across open fields for any distance.

‘Hulloa, Scud! why don’t you ever come to the Hall nowadays? I believe you’re scared. Don’t you want another taste of those cob-nuts?’

‘Of course I do. Great polecats! do you think I’ve got nothing better to do than mess about here all day picking up a few rotten grains of corn or green acorns?’

‘You ran fast enough on the day you and I got shot at,’ I retorted, rather annoyed at his insinuations.

‘A precious pair of young idiots we were!’ he returned scornfully. ‘I take jolly good care they don’t see me nowadays.’

‘Why, in the first place I go at dawn, before any one is about; in the second, I don’t cut across the lawn, but round to the right of the house. Are you game to come to-morrow morning?’

A longing to see the old place once more came over me. I was also anxious to find out what Rusty was about, for I did not believe for a moment that the attraction lay in the cob-nuts. I hesitated.

‘Very well,’ said Rusty, taking my silence for consent. ‘Meet me at sun-up by the pool at the other end of the wood.’

I won’t describe how we reached the Hall, except to say that, instead of working down the road-hedge to the left, as we had done on the previous occasion, we struck boldly out down the right-hand side to the large meadow. Rusty guided me round to the home farm-buildings, which lay some quarter of a mile to the right of the Hall. The farm and rick-yards were surrounded on two sides by a stone wall, outside which was a strip of laurel shrubbery.

‘Now, you wait here,’ said Rusty with a patronizing air which I could not help resenting. ‘I’m going over the wall for my breakfast. You needn’t watch if you don’t like.’

‘Don’t be a fool, Rusty!’ exclaimed I angrily, for I thought it sheer bravado on his part. ‘There’s nothing to eat there, except the chicken grain you profess to despise.’

‘Oh! isn’t there?’ jeered my brother; and before I could say another word he had leaped on to the wall, and with another bold spring was down in the yard.

It was still very early, a bright cloudless August morning, and everything dripping with dew. The [182] place appeared to be deserted, although from the kitchen chimney of the farm-house a slight blue smoke was rising. Climbing into the top of a laurel, I got a good view of the whole yard, and watched Rusty nimbly scuttle across towards the further buddings. Behind these he was lost to sight.

Suddenly arose the wild cackling of a frightened hen, and next moment, to my utter horror, there came Rusty round the corner of a shed, head up, as bold as brass, with a young chicken swinging by the neck between his sharp teeth. At the same moment I saw—what he failed to notice—a man, who raised his head cautiously over the half-door of a cowshed on the far side of the yard, and the level rays of the rising sun glinting on the barrels of a gun. I gave one sharp bark of warning. Too late! A puff of smoke sprang from the muzzle, the heavy report sent the sparrows up in a chattering cloud, and of my brother no more remained than a little red rag of broken fur stretched on the cobbles which paved the yard.

I suppose the man with the gun could not have heard my attempted warning. If he had, nothing could have saved me, for I was too horror-stricken for the moment to move at all. I sat like a stuffed [183] squirrel and watched him walk across to where Rusty lay. ‘Well, I never would ha’ believed it!’ he said wonderingly, holding the small bunch of mangled fur out at arm’s length. ‘If one of them chicks has gone I’ve lost a dozen; and to think it was this here little red rascal!’ He turned and called loudly, ‘Jim, bring me a hammer and a nail.’

A tousle-headed boy came out of the back door of the farm-house with the required implements. The man took the hammer, and deliberately nailed the dead body of my brother against the tarred wooden wall of one of the barns. ‘You’ll do for a warning,’ he remarked grimly as he turned away. And, sick at heart, I dropped out of sight and made the best of my way back to the coppice.

Such was the end of the strongest and bravest squirrel whom I ever knew. You must not imagine for one moment that such a crime as he was guilty of is a common one among squirrels. It is, indeed, very rare for one of our family to take to a carnivorous diet, but when he does fall into such a habit he never abandons it. They say that there is a kind of parrot in New Zealand, called the kea, which in old days, before sheep were imported into the islands, lived entirely upon seeds and insects. [184] But the bird found it was easier to pick at the raw skins of newly-killed sheep, hung out on the fences, than to hunt food for itself; and, once it acquired a taste for blood, there was no more caterpillar-hunting for the kea! Next thing the shepherds knew, sheep were found dying or dead all over the ranges, the fat above the kidneys torn out by the powerful hooked beak of this goblin bird. Now the Government has set a price upon the head of the kea, and the outlaw lives a proscribed and hunted life.

Far be it from the squirrels that, as a race, they should take to the evil habit of flesh eating. But from time immemorial a few in each generation have begun with devouring birds’ eggs; from that gone on to eating young hedge-sparrows, redstarts, and the like; and finally, like my poor brother, taken to larger game, such as young pheasants, ducks, or chickens. But they seldom have the chance of long continuing such raids, for, unlike foxes, rats, polecats, and other enemies of the poultry yard, they do not hunt by night, but boldly in broad daylight. Consequently they almost inevitably meet fate in the shape of a charge of lead.

Whether the man who shot Rusty told the story [185] to the ginger-whiskered keeper, or whether the latter himself surprised some of us feasting on his pheasant food in the coppice I do not know, but from that very day dated the war against the squirrels on the Hall estate.

That same afternoon, having discharged the unpleasant duty of telling poor Rusty’s widow of the sad event of the morning, I was roaming sadly about our oak-tree, searching under the bark for the insects which inhabited the rotten wood, when I heard a gun fired twice at the other end of the coppice. At first I hardly moved, for I took it that the keeper was merely killing a weasel or some such vermin. But when two more shots followed quickly, and immediately afterwards the vicious crack, crack of a lighter weapon, I was amazed, for, like all other woodland dwellers, I was perfectly well aware that the shooting season had not yet commenced. When the double barrel spoke again, and this time nearer, I called Walnut, who was up in the top branches, and together we took hasty refuge in our hole.

We had not been there five minutes before there came a quick scuttering of claws up the rough bark, and simultaneously the tramping of heavy feet through the bracken at a little distance.

I was moving to the entrance to find out what was going on when something fairly shot into the hole, knocking me back to its farthest end. When I had picked myself up, there was Cob lying panting, almost too much exhausted to speak.

‘The keeper and a boy. They’ve shot three of us already, and I’m frightened to death about Hazel. I was away from home and couldn’t get back. I saw three dead bodies.’

‘Where’s the dratted little beggar got to? I seed him jump into this here oak. He can’t be far off.’

‘He’s sure to be in one of the holes in the trunk,’ replied more sharply pitched tones which I recognized at once as those of the high-collared boy whose mark I still bore in the shape of a shot hole in one ear. ‘Climb up, Tompkins, and see.’

‘Climb! Thank’ee, sir. I wasn’t engaged to break my neck climbing trees—not at my age. Tell you what, sir. I’ll go on with the gun. You can wait here quietly, and after a bit he’s sure to come out, and then you can shoot him.’

‘All right,’ answered the boy, and we plainly [187] heard Tompkins stamping off. Cob was crazy to get away and go in search of his wife and family, but the boy below, who had about as much idea of woodcraft as a frog has of flying, made such a noise moving from one foot to the other, breathing hard and shifting his rifle about, that even a hedgehog would have known better than to take the chances of showing himself.

His patience was about on a par with his other performances, for in less than five minutes he became tired of waiting, and moved off after the keeper.

But we heard no more shots. Bad news spreads like magic in a wood, and by this time every squirrel of the forty or fifty who inhabited our coppice was snug under cover, and it would have taken better eyes than those of Ginger or his young friend to find us. After another half hour or so we heard the far gate slam to, and knew that danger was over—at least, for the present. Then Cob went off as hard as his legs would carry him, and later on I was delighted to hear that he had found Hazel and his two young ones quite safe and unhurt.

To say that we were furious at this wanton massacre is to put our feelings very mildly. From [188] time out of mind the lives of the squirrels on the Hall estate had been sacred, and except when trespassing louts—such as those who had caused the death of my father—had attacked us we had lived safe and happy from one generation to another.

As a race, we squirrels are very conservative and home loving. So long as we are not molested, the same families and their children remain in the same wood year after year, never emigrating unless driven to do so by over-population or lack of food. If, on the other hand, the squirrels in any particular locality are regularly persecuted by man, always their worst enemy, the survivors will very soon clear out completely. There are to-day whole tracts of beautiful beech woods in Buckinghamshire, where, though food is perhaps as plentiful as anywhere else in England, yet hardly a squirrel is to be seen. Our race has been so harried that they have left altogether. Modern high preserving is what we unlucky squirrels cannot stand. Where the owner’s one idea is to get as large a head of pheasants as the coverts can possibly carry, every other woodland creature goes to the wall, and the keepers shoot us down as mercilessly as they kill kestrels, owls, jays, hedgehogs, and a dozen other harmless birds and beasts.

Very soon it became clear that the new tenant of the Hall had declared war against us. The pheasants, of which an immense number had been turned down, were his only care. He used to come and strut about while Tompkins was feeding them. As Walnut said, he only needed a long tail and a few feathers to resemble exactly a stupid old, stuck-up cock-pheasant himself.

Again and again during that August Tompkins with his twelve bore, and the band-box boy with a small repeating rifle, invaded the wood and fired indiscriminately at every squirrel they could set eyes on. But, as you may imagine, we very soon learnt caution, and when news of their approach was signalled from tree to tree, every squirrel in the coppice took instant cover. Still, our enemies occasionally succeeded in cutting off one of our number in some tree where total concealment was impossible, and then the cruel little brute of a boy would make him a target for his tiny bullets, often inflicting half a dozen wounds before a vital spot was struck. Then at last the tightly-clutching claws would slowly relax, and the poor, bleeding little body come thudding down from bough to bough, to be pounced on by the young murderer with a yell of fiendish glee.

In those days I kept Walnut very close at home. Except at dawn or just before dusk we never ventured far from cover, with the result that neither was ever shot at. It was uncommonly lucky for us that this was the time of most plentiful food, for otherwise, being afraid to roam far in search of provender, we must often have gone hungry. But though, as I have already mentioned, the early drought had caused a famine in nuts, acorns, and mast, yet there was plenty else to eat. It was as wet now as it had been dry in the earlier part of the year, and the steamy heat had produced amazing crops of mushrooms and other fungi. The hedgerows, too, which before the rain had looked thin and brown, were now full of rank, new growth, while as for insects of all kinds, they fairly swarmed. On the pheasant food, too, we levied regular toll. In any case, the fool of a keeper threw down twice as much as the birds cared to eat.

In those days our enemy was busy with other weapons beside the gun. Men were constantly at work lopping the underbrush to keep the rides open, while much spading went on to clear the water-logged ditches.

September was three parts gone, and the pheasants were nearly full grown, but as yet so [191] tame that they had almost to be kicked before they would use their wings. They were still fed in the small glade close below the oak, when Walnut and I, peeping out cautiously from the end of the hollow branch, would watch our enemy with the ginger whiskers strewing the wheat, and then, as soon as he was safely out of the gate, make a wild rush down and eat our fill. Pheasants are quite the most utter fools of any birds that I know. With their great weight and strong beaks we could have done nothing to resist had they chosen to attack us when we raided their larder. But this never seemed to occur to them. You have only to look very fierce and rush at him for the largest cock-pheasant to run for dear life.

More often than before, the new master of the Hall began to accompany his keeper and watch the feeding process. Great hazel-sticks! the man was as fussy as a hen with ducklings.

However, there’s many a slip ’twixt the nut and the teeth, and our pompous friend was not destined to have things all his own way after all.

One still night about ten days before the end of September, Walnut and I were roused by a light which, flashing across the opening to our retreat, was reflected into our eyes. It passed immediately, but not before we were both broad awake.

‘Lie still, Walnut,’ I ordered uneasily, for this was something new to me. I had never before heard men moving in the wood so late at night, and I was at first inclined to think that there might be some new plot of Tompkins or his satellites a-foot. Very cautiously I peered out. There was a young moon somewhere behind the soft veil of cloud, which covered the sky so that it was not too dark to see the figures of three men moving cautiously across the glade in which the pheasants fed. One carried a dark lantern, the tiny beam of light from which was what had roused us the moment before.

‘They’ll be in them young beeches,’ said one in a hoarse whisper. ‘There ain’t any in the oak.’

I saw them all three move cautiously across into a clump of young beeches which stood just across the glade. There they stopped, and the lantern was flashed upwards into the low branches, its light gleaming golden upon the yellowing leaves. A slight rustle followed, and a voice muttered:

The three now stooped together on the ground and appeared to be gathering dry leaves and heaping them together in a little pile. Presently I heard the faint scratching of a match, and a small blue flame illuminated three eager faces. Two of them were men whom I had never seen before; the third I recognized as a labourer whom I had more than once watched shake his fist fiercely as he passed the locked gate of the coppice.

The man who held the match touched it to the leaves, but before they could burst into bright flame the two others penned the little fire by holding a couple of sacks round it.

One of the men threw a handful of powder over the fire which at once choked it down, making it burn with a sickly blue flame. Then they all three [194] stood perfectly still, hiding the fire with their sacks, but keeping their heads turned as far as possible away from the smoke which went wreathing up in thick columns into the foliage above them.

Before many moments had passed there came a slight whirr, the sound of wings beating on leaves, and with a flop, down fell a great pheasant almost on the heads of the watchers. Quick as a cat, one of the men reached out one arm, seized the bird, and wrung its neck. He had hardly done so when there was another rustle and thud, and a second of our oppressor’s pets shared the fate of the first.

It was evident that from the stuff they put in the flame there arose poisonous fumes that stupefied the roosting birds.

Very soon even we could smell the noisome stuff, and Walnut wrinkled up his nose in disgust. Even a human being, let alone a squirrel, whose sense of smell is fifty times more acute, could easily have perceived it.

Presently the poachers lifted up the whole fire, which we now saw had been built upon a small square of sheet-iron, and removed it bodily to a fresh spot, under another tree. Here no fewer than four pheasants were secured one after another, and then the fire was moved again. So they went on [195] for two hours or more, working round and round the glade. As nearly all the pheasants roosted in this part of the coppice there was no need to go further afield. At last, when their sack was fairly bulging with dead game, they took their departure.

Twice during the next three nights did the gang of poachers return, and each time went home with a score or more of long-tails. Tompkins at last began to miss his birds at feeding-time, and to suspect that something was wrong. Walnut and I sat secure in our retreat overhead, and jeered at the man’s utter stupidity. Why, even if he had no nose for the brimstone, of which the whole place fairly reeked, there were great footprints all over the place telling their story in large type to anyone who had eyes! Yet the keeper absolutely walked over them without looking at them. The very idea of poachers never seemed to occur to him. I verily believe he thought that we had something to do with the disappearance of his precious pheasants, for as he left the coppice he fired at and killed a poor young cousin of ours.

The leaves had begun to fall once more, when one day the pompous little fat man accompanied Tompkins through the coppice. They stopped in the glade below us, and it was evident the [196] new tenant was uneasy. He began peering and pointing, and questioning the keeper as if he were only half satisfied.

‘Oh, they’re all right, sir,’ replied the keeper hastily, in answer to his questions. ‘You see, sir, they’ve got so big now they don’t need the grain. They’re round in the bracken finding their own feed.’

The master swallowed his story like a thrush swallowing a worm. Indeed, he was evidently rather pleased, for he thought the birds would be wild and strong on the wing for next day.

That same night I was wakened by gunshots. Never before had I heard a gun fired at night, and the sound was most alarming. I thought at first that the firing was at a distance, but just as I looked out the darkness was lit by a flash quite close at hand. The report was, however, strangely slight. As a matter of fact, the guns were loaded with reduced charges.

Immediately at the report down flopped a pheasant to the ground. The poacher gang were at work, and as time was short were shooting the pheasants as they roosted. Pop, pop, pop! The pheasants were falling at the rate of one a minute. There would be very few left for our stout friend [197] at the Hall and his swell city friends next day. Two sacks were full.

‘Right oh!’ answered another. He spoke out loud, for by this time the gang had been so long undisturbed that they had become quite reckless, and neglected the precautions which they had at first observed.

The words were hardly out of his mouth before there was a sudden rush of feet, and there came the keeper, his son, another man, and the fourth was no other than the new tenant himself.

Ginger recklessly rushed forward shouting. Next instant a gun cracked—I never saw who fired the shot—and Ginger, with a hideous yell, fell forward on his face, and lay twitching in a horrid fashion on the ground.

I saw Ginger’s son charge forward, swinging his stick, with the other man close behind him. I saw the poachers run for their lives, leaving the spoil behind them. But what was the new Squire about? He never budged, but stood there like a stuck pig; and even in the dim light it was easy to see his legs quaking and the shivers that shook his podgy frame.

Not until poachers and pursuers had vanished [198] through the trees, and the crashing sound of their running feet had almost died in the distance, did the cowardly little man move slowly up to where his keeper lay.

Tompkins only groaned, and the stout man, kneeling beside him, fairly wrung his hands in hopeless incompetency. At last he seemed to remember something, and pulling out a flask from his pocket, put it to Tompkins’s lips just as the keeper’s son and the other man returned empty-handed.

The new Squire turned on them, storming at them for having allowed the poachers to escape, without seeming to heed the fact that his keeper still lay unconscious at his feet. He stamped and swore and almost shrieked in his impotent anger. Presently his son and the other man hoisted up Tompkins, who seemed to have got the charge in his legs, and between them carried him off, the little stout man stalking growling along in the rear. Then, at last, Walnut and I were left to get some sleep.

However, there was no peace for us. By ten o’clock next day the coppice was full of beaters, making noise enough to rouse a dormouse, and [199] scaring the remaining pheasants nearly out of their feathers. Instead of running or hiding, the silly birds immediately rose and flew up over the trees, and then began such a salvo of firing as none of us had ever heard in our lives before. The whole coppice was full of the sharp, sour smell of smokeless powder, and as for us and the other coppice dwellers, we cowered in the very deepest corners of our various refuges, and waited with shaking bodies and aching heads for the din to cease. At last it did stop, but only to break out afresh at the next spinney, and so on all day round the whole country-side.

In the afternoon, after it was all over, and just as Walnut and I were starting out to find our evening meal, there came a fresh invasion. It was headed by the stout new tenant, gorgeously arrayed in a check shooting suit, which in itself was enough to scare any self-respecting squirrel out of his wits, and with him walked five others like unto himself. He was evidently giving them all an account, a glorified account, of what had happened. By the way he pointed and ran a few steps, and let fly with his fist, it seemed as if he personally must have killed the whole gang of poachers, and they all listened attentively, though one or two laughed behind his back.

I learnt afterwards from Cob that he had seen a man going about with the sacks full of dead pheasants the poachers had dropped. He had scattered them here and there throughout the wood. This had puzzled him much, and he had watched to see if they were left there; but, no; when the shoot was over the pheasants were picked up again with those that had really been shot by the guests, and in this way they made up quite a big bag.

All this poaching business does not seem to have much to do with my life. Indirectly, however, it had, for the new tenant of the Hall was so angry about the poaching that on the very day after the battue he set a whole gang to work to run barbed wire—of all awful things!—round the whole of the coppice. Other men were put to lop the hedges close, and two new keepers engaged. The latter were worse than Tompkins. I suppose it was by way of justifying their existence that they walked about all day with their guns, firing at almost everything they could see that was not game. It became almost impossible to show our noses outside our homes during daylight, and many an evening Walnut and I went hungry to bed. Life became one prolonged dodging, for even when the new keepers were not about the workmen would [201] take pot shots with stones at any of us they could view. Incidentally, too, they knocked over many a fat rabbit and dozens of the remaining pheasants. But of these proceedings their employer, intent on saving his coverts from the village poachers, remained in blissful ignorance.

At last there came a crisis. Walnut and I had taken advantage of the quiet of the midday hour—the men being at their dinner—to steal out and get some beech-mast, when suddenly a missile of some sort hissed just above my head, cutting away a twig close above. I paused an instant in utter amazement, for I had heard no report, when—ping! another bullet whacked on the bark close below my feet, and there was a brute of a boy in corduroys, his head peering from behind a trunk, and in the very act of stretching the elastic of a heavy catapult. One quick bark to Walnut, and we were both away as hard as we could lay legs to the branches. A third buckshot whizzed close behind my brush as I fled. The boy, seeing us run, at once followed and began positively showering shot after us. It was impossible to reach home under the bombardment, and if we had not been lucky enough to find a knot-hole in a beech just large enough to shelter the two of us, one or other—both, [202] perhaps—would have been maimed or killed.

This was the last straw. For some days a vague resolution had been forming slowly in my brain. That night, as we crouched, almost too hungry to sleep, in our oak-tree home, I told Walnut we could stay there no longer, but must leave the coppice where we had so long sheltered.

He seemed rather to like the idea than otherwise, being young and ready for adventure.

Very early next morning I slipped across to the old beech and told my mother. I was anxious that she and the others should accompany us, but this she would not do.

‘No, Scud; I am too old to leave my home. I shall stay here and take my chances. But you, I think, are wise to go. Waste no time in getting off, for you must be well away before the men come to their work.’

A few minutes later Walnut and I had crossed the road and were hastening away across an open field bound due north. We went that way because we could go no other—a squirrel migrating invariably travels north. I do not know the reason, but some instinct implanted in us ages and ages ago, perhaps even before men began to walk erect, [203] tells us to do so, and we obey it, and shall obey it, thousands of years hence. In just the same way the Norwegian lemmings march in their myriads towards the sea, and are drowned in the salt waves in a vain, instinctive effort to reach some place that has long disappeared beneath the waves.

I cannot tell you all our wanderings or the perils that we encountered by the way. Twice Walnut was very nearly caught by a weasel; once a wide-winged hen sparrow-hawk came whistling down out of the blue as we were crossing an open field, and we escaped only by a happy accident into an old drain-tile which happened to lie near by. In this narrow refuge we both squeezed our trembling bodies until the bird of prey had departed in disgust.

We travelled very slowly, stopping sometimes for a whole day in any coppice in which we happened to find ourselves. Several times we almost made up our minds to remain for good in one or other of these woods, but always the same difficulty stood in our way. The scarcity of food was universal. All the country-side had suffered alike from the great drought of the early summer, and mast, acorns, and nuts alike were conspicuous by [204] their absence. As far as the present went, we did well enough. In autumn a squirrel can always find food of some kind or another.

The love of wandering was like a fever. In the course of a week or so we two had become regular vagabonds. There was an absolute fascination in new scenes each day and new quarters each night; and, feeling that we had cut ourselves off for ever from all our ties, there seemed no special object in stopping anywhere in particular.

And yet at times I was anxious. I knew well enough that winter was coming, and that we must settle down and find a home and collect stores before the cold weather.

There came a morning when the sky was full of high wind cloud, but the air so clear that distant objects seemed but a few fields away, and, leaving a small fir-plantation on the flank of a hill where we had spent the night, we looked down upon a deep valley, along the bottom of which was a long line of timber, wide in some places, narrow in others. Between the thinning autumn foliage one caught here and there the sparkle of running water. A mile or more down the valley, and on the far side of the river, a large old-fashioned house, that vaguely reminded me of the Hall, lay against the [205] steep side of the opposite slope, with gardens terraced to the water-edge.

The wood behind it was all that we could have hoped, and more. Ancient trees of enormous girth and size grew so thick and close that the sun seldom if ever reached the thickets of undergrowth beneath their spreading tops. Hardly a sign was to be seen of the interfering hand of man, and though the place was full of wild life—rabbits, wood-pigeons, and the like—pheasants were conspicuous by their absence. A peculiarity of the wood, no doubt on account of its damp, sheltered position, was the immense amount of ivy which covered the massive trunks with clinging tendrils and dark green leaves. There was food too, for the oaks whose roots no doubt penetrated far below the level of the stream, had a fair crop of acorns, and, better still, there were hazel-bushes close along the water’s edge which were still fairly full of ripe nuts. The place was a perfect Paradise from a squirrel’s point of view, and my half-joking suggestion of spending the winter in it speedily became a fixed idea.

The first thing to do was to find a residence. This was an easy task, for there were dozens to choose from. Walnut was very keen upon an old [206] magpie’s nest which he found in a huge thorn-tree, and which was still in excellent repair even to the roof; but I had had enough of built nests, and preferred a knot-hole in a beech. Once a squirrel takes to living in holes in trees, he usually sticks to the same description of residence to the end of his days.

One fact which struck me as odd during our first day’s exploration of the river-side wood was the almost entire absence of our own tribe. We only saw two squirrels besides ourselves, and they were young and anything but friendly. In fact, they both bolted before we could have a word with them.

It was the drumming of heavy rain among the dying foliage above that woke us at daylight next morning. The sky was one uniform grey, and everything was soaking and dripping. We had reason indeed to be thankful that we had found a warm dry home, for this weather looked like lasting.

Last it did, all day long, and as there was nothing else to do we curled up and slept. Evening came, and still it rained—harder if anything than before. It was too wet to go out and forage, and so we went hungry to bed. It is a fortunate dispensation [207] that we squirrel folk can go for long periods without food if we can find a dry place to sleep in, for I have seldom known a squirrel who would not sooner be hungry than wet.

Next morning it was still raining, though not so hard. Large pools lay in every depression, and the hoarse roar of the swollen river echoed through the soaking woods. Rain had now been falling for thirty-six hours straight on end, and we had been all that time without a meal.

I was not at all uneasy about him, for the wood seemed safe enough, and Walnut, now more than six months old, was well able to take care of himself. As for me, I drowsed until about midday, and then looking out again found that the downpour had at last ceased and the sun was shining once more. I missed Walnut, for I was so much accustomed to his nestling beside me; and, stretching lazily, I sallied forth to look for him, stepping daintily along the soaking boughs in order to avoid bringing down upon myself the great drops of moisture which hung on every yellowing leaf. I [208] made straight for the hazel-bushes, which we had found on the first day near to the water’s edge; but when I came in sight of the river I could hardly believe my eyes, so tremendous a change had the great rain wrought. In place of the shallow stream that purled across pebble beds from pool to pool, a broad torrent, red with the clay of the upland fields, was raging down with appalling force and fury. Even where the banks had been highest the flood was level with their tops, and in many places it had overflowed them so that the nut-bushes stood up like islands among wide backwaters where the current eddied lazily, swinging on its discoloured surface millions of dead leaves and sticks.

The sight fairly fascinated me, and for the moment I forgot my hunger, Walnut, and everything else in watching the irresistible force of the rushing torrent and noticing the speed at which the logs and sticks which it had tom from its banks were carried downwards.

But hunger soon reasserted its claims, and I began to reconnoitre for the best means of reaching the nut-bushes and breakfast. A little further down the stream a low, flat-topped oak extended its spreading branches more than half-way across the flooded river, and I saw that from the point of [209] one of its long limbs it would be easy to drop into a good-sized clump of hazel-bush below. No sooner seen than done, and another minute found me comfortably perched in the branches of the hazel-bushes cracking nuts and eating them with a naturally fine appetite sharpened by forty hours abstinence.

That I was on an island completely cut off on all sides by water troubled me not at all. I was much too hungry to worry about that, for I felt sure that I could jump back on to my oak bough, which formed a bridge to bring me back to land again, and so I worked steadily downwards from branch to branch.

I was only a foot or two from the ground when a rustle among the thick, mossy stumps below attracted my attention. Glancing down, the sight that met my eyes almost paralysed me with horror.

The animal which had just pushed its way out of the hollow recesses of the hazel-roots resembled nothing so much as a weasel, but a weasel of such giant proportions as I had never before dreamed of. From nose to tip of tail it was nearly two feet long. The creature had a domed head, with prominent eyes and widely arched eyebrows, giving it a strangely sinister appearance. It was, in fact, though I did not realize this at the time, no other than the rare and dreaded polecat, which keepers call the foumart.

When I first caught sight of this monster I was sitting on a bough barely a couple of feet from the ground, and so great was my amazement and fright that for an instant I sat staring down into the glaring yellow eyes, unable to collect my senses at all. Of a sudden the creature launched itself upwards with almost the quickness and ferocity of a striking snake. Its thin lips, curled back, showed [211] two rows of close-set white teeth, sharp as needles, and at the same instant an abominable odour, like that of a stoat, but far more fœtid, nearly suffocated me.

Recovering myself just in time, I made one desperate spring, and succeeded in reaching a twig out of reach of the brute’s jaws. But the foumart had no idea of being so easily cheated of his meal. The branches, thick and close-set, offered him an easy ladder, and to my horror and alarm, he came after me with unexpected and startling speed. I completely lost my head, and dashed away up to the top of the hazel-bush with a recklessness inspired by terror.

In my haste I found that I had ascended, not the main stalk of the clump, but another not so tall. The result was that the oak branch from which I had dropped was now a long way above me. But a rustle in the foliage below told me that my enemy was at my heels, and nerved me to attempt the jump.

My claws just grazed the under side of the oak bough. I fell back, and next moment had plunged with a splash into the swirling waters of the swollen torrent.

The fall carried me far below the muddy surface, [212] but next moment I rose, gasping for breath, and struck out vehemently. I know that it is popularly supposed that a squirrel cannot swim, but that when he wishes to cross a river he launches himself upon a piece of floating bark, and using his tail as a sail, ferries himself across. A squirrel, as a matter of fact, is a very fair swimmer, and can, and does at a pinch, cross wide rivers in this way. Though I had never tried it before, yet I found myself quite able to keep my head above water; but a very short struggle convinced me that it was foolishness to attempt to make head against the fierce current of the flooded stream.

For I had fallen not into the placid backwater behind the nut-bush island, but out into the edge of the main stream, and a cross current catching me, had sent me swinging out into the very centre of the racing river. For a few moments I beat the water desperately with all four paws in a frantic effort to get back to the shore which I had left; but very soon I exhausted myself so completely that I could fight no longer, and, paddling feebly, was swept down-stream at a positively terrifying speed.

It was now late in October, and the water was very cold. Soon I began to feel quite numbed. [213] Besides this, I was horribly frightened, while the pace at which the small whirlpools into which I was constantly flung, spun me around, made me giddy, and added to the hopelessness of my feelings. The whole experience was so horrifying that I may be forgiven for confessing the terror I felt. Once or twice I saw tree-roots or projecting points of high banks forming promontories which extended out into the flood, and so long as strength lasted I made fierce efforts to reach them. But in each case the current, rendered the more irresistible by opposition, mocked my puny efforts and whirled me away out into the centre again. Once a small log, floating almost submerged, overtook me as I battled with the stream, and, catching me across the neck, pushed me quite under water and drove over me. When I rose once more, my strength was almost spent, and I felt that I could not much longer continue the useless struggle.

I was sinking lower and lower in the water; my strokes were becoming more feeble every moment, and it was only a question of a few minutes before I must have sunk for good, when I suddenly caught sight of a long narrow plank, evidently torn from some paling by the flood, sweeping down, end on, beside me. With a last despairing effort I struck [214] out for it, and just before it had passed quite out of my reach, succeeded in scrambling upon one end of it. It dipped beneath my water-logged weight, and the current almost snatched me away. But, clinging with all my claws, I managed to crawl along to its centre, and found to my joy that it would support me.

But, even so, my position was extremely perilous. The way in which the banks flew by showed how rapid was the rush of the flooded river. Suppose the plank caught against any obstacle, it must at once roll over and plunge me again into the water. Happily, however, this did not happen, and though time and again it checked and quivered, I managed to retain my hold, and so was swept along almost as fast as a man could run.

I passed the large house down the valley, and beyond it the river broadened, but still ran with almost unabated speed. Soon I had cleared the wood, and was driving along between pastures which sloped steeply upwards from bluff-like banks. Once I saw a drowned sheep caught in the brambles under a curve, and shuddered to think how soon the same fate might befall me. Field after field flew by, and once more the river plunged into the shadow of thick trees, and then a new and [215] terrifying sound came to my ears. It was the deep, sullen roar of falling water.

Sweeping round a wide curve, I became aware of a long weir in front penning the brimming river which foamed along its top, while through the open sluice-gates the main stream plunged in a mass of yellow foam. Now, indeed, I gave myself up for lost, for I saw that I could not hope to survive the passage down that fierce fall. On like an arrow sped the plank, straight for the centre of the opening, and all hope that it might drift against the weir was gone, when, suddenly, with a jar that almost flung me from my insecure perch, the front end of the plank struck something hidden below the muddy water, probably a sunken stake, and instantly was swung side on, jamming across the very mouth of the gates. Gathering all my few remaining energies, I made a feeble leap, and more by good luck than good management reached the top of the weir. Even then my troubles were not over, for the weir was old and broken, and in places the flood was actually foaming over its top. But after waiting a little to recover my strength, I succeeded in jumping these gaps, and at last struggled safely ashore once more.

I was soaked as I had never been in my life [216] before, chilled to the bone, so exhausted that I could hardly move, and yet intensely grateful to be once more on firm ground. Luckily for me, the sun was still shining, and the air mild and warm for the time of year; so I crawled up into a small tree, and lying out on a branch on the sunny side, waited for my dripping fur to dry a little.

My position was far from an enviable one. Here I was, in a strange wood, far away from our winter-quarters, and separated from Walnut, without food, friends, or a home. However, Walnut was luckily well able to look after himself, and there was no doubt about finding food of some sort, so I consoled myself with the thought that I would start as soon as possible and make my way back to the river wood.

While I sat there sunning myself I was surprised and pleased to hear a familiar gnawing sound in a neighbouring beech-tree, and suddenly there came into view another squirrel, a handsome fellow with an uncommonly light coat. I called to him, and he came across in a most friendly way.

He remarked on my dripping coat civilly, and I told him the story of my misfortunes.

‘Ugh!’ he shuddered, with a glance at the foaming [217] river, ‘I wouldn’t take a swim in that—not for a coppice full of cob-nuts!’

We chatted for a while, and my new friend was good enough to show me a nice lot of fir-cones, on which I made a much-needed meal. Then I told him that I meant to go back up-stream to the river wood, and I suppose I must have dilated on its attractiveness, for suddenly he proposed accompanying me.

‘Like you,’ he said sadly, ‘I have lost my wife and all my family. I don’t know what became of them. I was out one day feeding, and when I came home they were all gone. There were footsteps below the tree, so no doubt I have some ruffianly man to thank for stealing them.’

I was anxious to start at once, but the pale squirrel, who told me that his name was Crab, begged me to share his quarters for the night and put off my departure till the morning. Oddly enough, though very tired, I was singularly unwilling to defer my start. However, he over-persuaded me. And for him the delay proved sad indeed, though fortunate enough for me.

Crab’s quarters were in a very odd place—in the hollow head of a large pollard willow not far from the water’s edge. I told him that I had never [218] before seen a squirrel live in a willow, and he explained that he had adopted this refuge because the ground beneath was so wet and swampy that it choked off human intruders. By degrees I found out that this wood was simply at the mercy of tramps and other vagabonds who camped there in numbers. Crab showed me the ashes of their fires alongside of the rough cart-track which ran through the coppice, and the places where they had cut wood to burn; evidently here was the other extreme from the Hall grounds—a country utterly neglected by its owners. Not a rabbit was to be seen, and Crab told me that, except for wood-pigeons and small birds, there was hardly a living thing in the wood.

‘The gipsies even catch the hedgehogs, roast them in clay, and eat them,’ he said with a shudder.

‘And who are gipsies?’ I inquired, puzzled. I had never heard the word before.

‘Brown men with traps and snares, and black-haired women with red handkerchiefs and shining earrings. Terrible people! Cleverer than keepers, and much more greedy. Pray you may not see any,’ he ended.

What Crab told me made me the more anxious to [219] clear out of this ill-omened spot, and next morning, as soon as the dew was a little off the grass, we started. Crab did not know much about the way we had to travel, but the river was our guide. What we both were chiefly afraid of were open meadows over which we knew that we had to pass. However, I was by now such a hardened wanderer that the risks of such a journey did not trouble me greatly.

It was an ideal autumn morning, calm, with a warm sun shining out of a blue sky, and the rain-washed air marvellously clear. Small birds chirped and twittered in every hedge, but I could see for myself that what Crab had told me was true. There was no game left in the whole country-side. Even rabbits were very scarce. The fields, too, were neglected. They were not half drained, so that the grass was rough, and patchy with clumps of reeds. The hedges were untrimmed, immensely high, and yet full of gaps. The lane running parallel with the river was scored with deep ruts which brimmed with muddy puddles.

The tall hedges offered us excellent travelling, and we saw nobody except a couple of farm-labourers striding along through the mud, their corduroy trousers tied below their knees with [220] string, and their short clay pipes leaving a trail of strong-smelling blue smoke in their wake.

For half a mile or so we kept the hedge alongside the lane. Then the road turned abruptly away from the river, so we left it, crossed a meadow, and got into another hedge which seemed to lead us in the right direction. It brought us after a time into a large leasowe sloping to the river. This leasowe I remember as one of the most beautiful places which I have ever seen. The ground, dropping sharply, was thickly studded with clumps of alder and hazel, the tops of which had been cut at irregular interval, while the roots had grown to enormous dimensions. Each clump was surrounded by a tangle of blackberry and brier, making a thick, impenetrable shelter. The leaves of these various trees were all in the full splendour of late autumn tints, and contrasted brilliantly with the green of the grass and the myriads of scarlet hips and haws; while there were dotted about the leasowe a number of crab-apple trees whose scarlet leaves and red and golden fruit gave a last touch of gorgeous colouring to the whole scene.

There were a good many nuts, and we crossed leisurely from clump to clump, now stopping to shell a nut, now to sample the crimson side of a [221] crab apple. I was tasting some over-ripe blackberries, many of which contained the most delicious little white grubs, when Crab suggested that it was time to push on, as we still had a long way to go, and the shadows were almost at their shortest.

Between us and the far hedge was a widish interval of fairly open grass, bounded on the upper side by a regular thicket of hazel. As we crossed this open space Crab suddenly drew my attention to a very odd-looking erection which stood in a sort of bay in the hazel-brush. I had never seen anything quite like it before, and, our curiosity thoroughly aroused, we moved slowly and cautiously towards it.

‘There are no pheasants here,’ replied Crab. ‘Besides, it’s got no sides.’

No more it had. I saw that plainly as we approached it more closely. It appeared to be a sort of sloping roof made of pieces of rough planking, and propped above a hole in the ground.

Suddenly Crab stopped short. ‘What’s this?’ he exclaimed. I did not wait to explain. A delicious morsel of white bread lay before me, and [222] I fell upon it and gobbled it up promptly. It was more than a year since I had tasted such a luxury.

‘Why, here’s another piece! I’ll try it,’ exclaimed my friend. He did so, and approved greatly. I found a third, and presently we were racing in short dashes up the queer-looking erection to which a trail of bread led directly.

Inside the dug-out hollow below the sloping roof the ground was white with crumbs.

‘Crab,’ I said, after a good stare at the whole thing, ‘I don’t quite like the look of it.’

‘I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘All I can say is, I don’t like it. I wouldn’t go under the roof if I were you.’

Before I could object again he had jumped down and was busily engaged with the bread. My mouth watered. I could see no sign of danger. There was nothing to suggest a trap. Why should not I also enjoy the delicacies? I was on the very verge of following Crab’s example; another second and I should have been alongside of him, when suddenly, [223] and without the slightest warning, thump! down came the wooden roof, and Crab was a prisoner beneath it. At the same instant there was a crash among the hazel-bushes, a sharp yelp, and a brown-faced, bare-legged boy, accompanied by a large mongrel, dashed down upon me.

I was off like a flash, and by a desperate effort gained the nearest tree—an ancient pollard oak—which stood quite by itself at some distance both from the hedge and the hazel-bushes. The dog bounded high against the rough trunk, but I was safely out of his reach, and, curling myself into the smallest possible compass, crouched in the gnarled top of the club-like head of the tree.

‘Watch him, Tige!’ shouted the boy, and the dog at once crouched silently at the foot of the tree, while his master walked to the trap. From my elevated position I could watch it all, and, what was more, see plainly an old sand-pit behind the hazel-bushes, with a tent at the bottom of it, two children playing outside, and a couple of ponies grazing near by.

Wrapping his hand in his cap, the boy cautiously seized hold of my poor friend. I, of course, supposed that he meant to make a captive of him, but, to my horror, the young fiend wrung the unhappy [224] Crab’s neck, and marched off with him back to the camp.

I saw the elder ruffian seize poor Crab’s dead body, and then, ‘Pity us ain’t got another,’ he said. ‘Two on ’em ’ud mek a nutty stew.’

‘You’ll ’ave to come an’ ’elp me,’ said the boy. ‘’Tis too ’igh for me to climb.’

A sallow-faced woman took Crab’s body from him, and then he and his son came up out of the pit towards the oak.

I gave myself up for lost. Remember, the tree was a pollard, and, having been lopped not more than four or five years before, its branches were thin and straight. They provided no cover at all. The crown from which they sprung was not more than twenty feet above the ground. Once my enemies climbed it, there was no escape; for if I ran out to the end of a branch and dropped I [225] should undoubtedly fall into the yawning jaws of Tige the dog. But the instinct of self-preservation is strong. Casting round me desperately, I saw a small crevice in the knotted trunk-top. At first it seemed far too small to hold me, but somehow or other I forced myself through, though I scored my sides as I did so. My claws met no foothold, I made a grasp at thin air, and fell flop half a dozen feet, landing upon a bed of soft, rotten wood. When my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I saw that the trunk was completely hollow for a man’s height from the top. It was not quite dark, for the daylight leaked through various small crevices, but there was no hole large enough for a man to put his hand through.

The scraping of boots on the rough outside bark jarred the whole hollow trunk. Presently I heard a voice from below: ‘Where be ’e, Zeke?’

‘Can’t see un, vather!’ cried the boy, who was by the sound on the crown of the oak.

Silence and more groping up above. I began to hope that the hole through which I had passed might escape the sharp eyes of the boy.

A pause, and presently a long bough came poking down, which I easily avoided. But—worse luck!—the boy’s quick ears heard me moving.

Memory flashed back to the poachers and the suffocated pheasants. Now, indeed, I was lost. In helpless terror I heard them piling leaves and twigs below the tree, and then the click of a striking match.

Blue fumes began to eddy through a knot-hole, but the bed of rotten wood below me was so thick and damp that they passed over my head and I was still able to breathe.

Soon there came a pounding on the outside of [227] the trunk which reverberated through the hollow, jarring me horribly. The outer crust was of no great thickness, and could not resist their blows for very long.

Rotten wood, bits of rubbish of all kinds began to rain down upon me through the smoke which still hung about the hollow interior of the tree. Thinking any fate better than dying like a rat in a trap, I climbed back up the wall of my refuge in an attempt to reach the knot-hole again. Half suffocated and completely dazed, I did manage to struggle up to it, got my paws on either side and tried to force my way through. Alas! A splinter broke away from the rough wood at the edge of the hole, and pinned me helplessly. I could get neither forward nor back.

Fate was too strong for me. I gave up all hope, and ceased to struggle. In another minute at most the boy would find me, and I should share poor Crab’s fate. I heard a crash as the chopper broke through the bark below, and Zeke’s voice:

Then it seemed to me that a miracle happened. Instead of the old fellow’s voice, the crisp, curt tones that cut the air were those of my one-time master, Jack.

Down dropped Zeke. There followed a crash among the bushes. A short interval. Would Jack find me? I struggled again furiously, but in vain. The splinter held me tight, and the only result of my efforts was exquisite pain.

‘I wonder what those gipsy chaps were after?’ came Jack’s voice. ‘I’d better have a look.’

Fresh sounds of scrambling, and all of a sudden my master’s face over the edge of the gnarled oak crown.

Summoning all my remaining energies I gave a pitiful choked squeak, a feeble attempt at the cry I used to call him with in the long-gone days at the Hall.

‘What! No, it can’t be! It’s absurd! And yet’—Jack’s voice rose to a shout—‘by Jove, it is Nipper !’ I felt his hand round me, his touch as gentle as ever. ‘You poor little chap, how did you come here? And stuck tight, too! Never mind, poor old Nipper boy. I’ll get you out all right. Just wait a jiffy.’

Out came his knife, and with the utmost gentleness he cut the wood away all round. In another minute I was free, and safe in his hand.

‘What, hurt, old chap? I must get it out.’ With wonderful tenderness and deftness he pulled out the sharp splinter. ‘There, it’s not much. Only a skin wound. How in the name of all that’s wonderful, did you come here, half a county away from the Hall?’

As he spoke he slipped me into the pocket of his Norfolk jacket and dropped quickly out of the tree.

When he took me out again we were in the terraced garden of the house which I had seen by the river. Jack ran up the drive and burst into the house, shouting at the top of his voice:

If ever I longed to be able to talk man-talk, then was the time! How astonished they all were, for Mabel and Mrs. Fortescue soon joined the boys, and were full of the same amazement at what they considered my strange and mysterious reappearance. I always wonder if they knew how much stranger I thought it at the time.

And yet it was simple enough. The house belonged to Mrs. Fortescue’s brother, a wealthy bachelor whose hobby it was to travel all over the world. It was he who had brought Lops, the flying squirrel, home from Mexico, and Joey, the [230] cockatoo, from West Africa. He had lent the Fortescues his house, and there they were living, and there Jack had joined them for one of his brief holidays.

As my old master took me up to his room that night, ‘Old chap,’ he said, ‘you and I are not going to part any more, even if I have to take you back to London town.’

No more we have. He did take me back to London, but it was only for a few weeks. For the Fortescues came into some money unexpectedly.

That is two years ago. Now we are back at the dear old Hall. The new tenant with his band-box son, his ginger-whiskered keeper, his tame pheasants and his barbed wire, are things of the evil past. As for me, I live in honoured liberty in the Hall grounds. Last year I married again, and I have three fine sons who are all nearly as fond of Jack and his family as their father. Visitors come from a distance to see Jack’s ‘furry family,’ as they call us. We run in a body at his approach down from the elm-trees to smother him with caresses.

Indeed, he deserves our love. Would that all other humans were as good to squirrels as he is.

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AMERICA	THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 64 & 66 Fifth Avenue , NEW YORK
CANADA	THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD. 27 Richmond Street West , TORONTO
INDIA	MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD. Macmillan Building , BOMBAY 309 Bow Bazaar Street , CALCUTTA

	PAGE
CHAPTER I
MY FIRST ADVENTURE	1
CHAPTER II
THE GREAT DISASTER	21
CHAPTER III
THE PLEASURES OF IMPRISONMENT	40
CHAPTER IV
A DAY IN RAT LAND	63
CHAPTER V
BACK TO THE WOODLANDS	81
CHAPTER VI
A NARROW ESCAPE	95
CHAPTER VII
THE GREY TERROR	119 [vi]
CHAPTER VIII
I FIND A WIFE	150
CHAPTER IX
WAR DECLARED AGAINST OUR RACE	174
CHAPTER X
POACHERS AND A BATTUE	192
CHAPTER XI
MY LAST ADVENTURE	210

SCUD	Frontispiece
	FACING PAGE
FATHER LEAPED STRAIGHT TOWARDS THE BOY, LANDING ACTUALLY ON HIS SHOULDER	32
HE IMITATED ME TO MY FACE	48
THE WHOLE OF THE SLIMY OLD WALL SEEMED ALIVE WITH THEM	74
THE BOYS NEVER MOVED OR SPOKE	88
CLIMBING INTO ONE OF THE LARGEST TREES, WE LAY PANTING AND TIRED OUT	112
TWO CRUEL GREEN ORBS SET IN A WIDE GREY FACE	142
DOWN THE NEAR SIDE OF THE TRUNK WAS A DEEP AND WIDE NEW SCAR	172
‘AND TO THINK IT WAS THIS HERE LITTLE RED RASCAL’	184
A SMALL BLUE FLAME ILLUMINATED THREE EAGER FACES	194
ANOTHER MOMENT FOUND ME COMFORTABLY PERCHED IN THE BRANCHES OF THE HAZEL-BUSHES	208
THE DOG BOUNDED HIGH, BUT I WAS SAFELY OUT OF HIS REACH	224

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The life story of a squirrel

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BY ALLAN STEWART

THE LIFE STORY OF A SQUIRREL

CHAPTER I
MY FIRST ADVENTURE

CHAPTER II
THE GREAT DISASTER

CHAPTER III
THE PLEASURES OF IMPRISONMENT

CHAPTER IV
A DAY IN RAT LAND

CHAPTER V
BACK TO THE WOODLANDS

CHAPTER VI
A NARROW ESCAPE

CHAPTER VII
THE GREY TERROR

CHAPTER VIII
I FIND A WIFE

CHAPTER IX
WAR DECLARED AGAINST OUR RACE

CHAPTER X
POACHERS AND A BATTUE

CHAPTER XI
MY LAST ADVENTURE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The life story of a squirrel

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALLAN STEWART

THE LIFE STORY OF A SQUIRREL

CHAPTER I MY FIRST ADVENTURE

CHAPTER II THE GREAT DISASTER

CHAPTER III THE PLEASURES OF IMPRISONMENT

CHAPTER IV A DAY IN RAT LAND

CHAPTER V BACK TO THE WOODLANDS

CHAPTER VI A NARROW ESCAPE

CHAPTER VII THE GREY TERROR

CHAPTER VIII I FIND A WIFE

CHAPTER IX WAR DECLARED AGAINST OUR RACE

CHAPTER X POACHERS AND A BATTUE

CHAPTER XI MY LAST ADVENTURE