But just then one of the spotless white doors opened. A baby girl emerged right in the path of the squirrel. He was not alarmed: baby girls had been a bountiful providence to him since his infancy. But this baby was a determined little maiden whose brain and hand worked in unison. Quick as thought she grabbed the squirrel’s beautiful bushy tail, and quite as quickly she loosed it, for the little gray chap dropped his acorn and turned his sharp teeth upon that plump little hand. Then, as he felt himself free, he scurried up the hill without stopping for anything, and turned westward toward Louisburg Square. When Wendell passed through the Square, the acorn safe in his trousers pocket, the squirrel was still chattering excitedly on the branch of a tree, scolding every one in particular and in general for the loss of his acorn. “It’s a shame, old chap,” said Wendell, pausing to peer at him through the iron railing. “But I’ll bring you a bag of peanuts to make up for it, you old life-saver, you.” The Pixie wore an air of quiet triumph when he appeared in Wendell’s room that evening. So did Wendell. “Well,” said the Pixie. “Do you give up this time?” “Not this time,” said Wendell, quietly but with great enjoyment, and he fished the acorn out of his pocket and laid it on the desk in front of the Pixie, who glared at it savagely. “Well,” said Wendell, “are you satisfied?” “Oh, yes,” said the Pixie, ironically. “It’s an acorn. I know an acorn when I see one, thank you. But there aren’t any oaks on Acorn Street.” [Illustration: SHE GRABBED THE SQUIRREL’S BEAUTIFUL BUSHY TAIL] “I know it. But a squirrel brought it all the way from the Public Garden and dropped it there. I saw him.” “A common or garden squirrel?” asked the Pixie incredulously. “Garden--when I saw him,” said Wendell. “But he might live on the Common for all I know.” “Some nutty squirrel,” said the Pixie dejectedly, “to block my game that way!” He sat fingering the acorn as if he hoped it would turn into something else. “Ah!” he said, brightening suddenly. “But I’ve thought of something for the third test that’s a _sticker_.” “What is it? A postage stamp?” asked Wendell. “You won’t feel so funny, young man, when you know what it is,” said the Pixie, glaring. CHAPTER V A FROG SOMEWHAT OUT OF THE COMMON “I suppose it’s a beacon from Beacon Hill,” said Wendell. “Now, that’s not bad,” conceded the Pixie. “I may use that some time. No,” triumphantly, “it’s a frog from the Frog Pond.” “Je-hoshaphat!” exclaimed Wendell. “You’ve got me this time.” The Pixie grinned. “I certainly think so,” said he.