"A squirrel!" cried the impetuous Boucheseiche, immediately falling into the snare; "let no one touch him, gentlemen--I will settle his account for him." The rest of the hunters had drawn back in a circle, and were exchanging sly glances. The collector loaded his gun, shouldered it, covered the squirrel, and then let go. "Hit!" exclaimed he, triumphantly, as soon as the smoke had dispersed. In fact, the animal had slid down the branch, head first, but, somehow, he did not fall to the ground. "He has caught hold of something," said the notary, facetiously. "Ah! you will hold on, you rascal, will you?" shouted Boucheseiche, beside himself with excitement, and the next moment he sent a second shot, which sent the hair flying in all directions. The creature remained in the same position. Then there was a general roar. "He is quite obstinate!" remarked the clerk, slyly. Boucheseiche, astonished, looked attentively at the tree, then at the laughing crowd, and could not understand the situation. "If I were in your place, Collector," said Claudet, in an insinuating manner, "I should climb up there, to see--" But Justin Boucheseiche was not a climber. He called a youngster, who followed the hunt as beater-up. "I will give you ten sous," said he; "to mount that tree and bring me my squirrel!" The young imp did not need to be told twice. In the twinkling of an eye he threw his arms around the tree, and reached the fork. When there, he uttered an exclamation. "Well?" cried the collector; impatiently, "throw him down!" "I can't, Monsieur," replied the boy, "the squirrel is fastened by a wire." Then the laughter burst forth more boisterously than before. "A wire, you young rascal! Are you making fun of me?" shouted Boucheseiche, "come down this moment!" "Here he is, Monsieur," replied the lad, throwing himself down with the squirrel which he tossed at the collector's feet. When Boucheseiche verified the fact that the squirrel was a stuffed specimen, he gave a resounding oath. "In the name of ---! who is the miscreant that has perpetrated this joke?" No one could reply for laughing. Then ironical cheers burst forth from all sides. "Brave Boucheseiche! That's a kind of game one doesn't often get hold of !" "We never shall see any more of that kind!" "Let us carry Boucheseiche in triumph!" And so they went on, marching around the tree. Arbillot seized a slip of ivy and crowned Boucheseiche, while all the others clapped their hands and capered in front of the collector, who, at last, being a good fellow at heart, joined in the laugh at his own expense.