Perhaps one of the wariest of wild animals is the squirrel. He is horribly afraid of human beings, and if a man, woman or child come to the windward of him, the little animal is sure to scamper off at his fleetest pace, scuttle up the nearest tree, and conceal himself behind some branch. Yet, wild as he may be, he is peculiarly susceptible to the influence of the human spirit, and for the sake of human society will utterly abandon that of his own kind. I once knew a pet gray squirrel by the name of Charley. He had been taken from the nest when very young. His home for awhile was one of those whirl-about cages. Charley did not like his cage, but preferred to be outside in the unrestrained enjoyment of the dictates of his own free will. So it was difficult to keep him behind the bars. When awake he loved to follow his own devices; but when tired he usually slept on a soft cushion on the sofa, or found his way into some bed-room where he would nestle under a pillow. Nothing was more to his satisfaction and pleasure than a share of the bed of his mistress, but he was always a troublesome nest-fellow. Charley had, as must be obvious, perfect freedom. He was allowed to go as he pleased. There was no coercion in his case. Had he wished to escape, there was nothing to prevent, and nothing bound him to his mistress but an “ever-lengthening chain” of love and aspirations which none but a human being could satisfy. The sparrow, one of the most independent and self-reliant of birds, has been known to abandon its kind for the sake of human beings. Wood cites a case of a bird of this species that had been rescued from some boys who had been robbing the nest. The bird was brought home, but was never confined in a cage, but was permitted to fly freely about the house. As there was a cat about the house, she had to be closely watched lest she might do the bird some injury. On Sundays, when the family went to church and no one remained to keep an eye on the cat, the sparrow was turned into the garden, where it flew about until the family’s return. The opening of the dining-room window by its mistress, and the display of her ungloved hands, was the signal for its entry. But if the mistress stood by the window with her gloves on, then the bird showed not the slightest disposition to enter.