Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 7Sylvester, Charles Herbert
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Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 7
Sylvester, Charles Herbert
Children's literature; Literature -- Collections
At length he would reach the corn, and selecting a suitable ear, brisk
about in the same uncertain trigonometrical way to the topmost stick of
my wood-pile, before my window, where he looked me in the face, and
there sit for hours, supplying himself with a new ear from time to time,
nibbling at first voraciously and throwing the half-naked cobs about;
till at length he grew more dainty still and played with his food,
tasting only the inside of the kernel, and the ear, which was held
balanced over the stick by one paw, slipped from his careless grasp and
fell to the ground, when he would look over at it with a ludicrous
expression of uncertainty, as if suspecting that it had life, with a
mind not made up whether to get it again, or a new one, or be off; now
thinking of corn, then listening to hear what was in the wind. So the
little impudent fellow would waste many an ear in a forenoon; till at
last, seizing some longer and plumper one, considerably bigger than
himself, and skilfully balancing it, he would set out with it to the
woods, like a tiger with a buffalo, by the same zigzag course and
frequent pauses, scratching along with it as if it were too heavy for
him and falling all the while, making its fall a diagonal between a
perpendicular and horizontal, being determined to put it through at any
rate--a singularly frivolous and whimsical fellow--and so he would get
off with it to where he lived, perhaps carry it to the top of a pine
tree forty or fifty rods distant, and I would afterward find the cobs
strewed about the woods in various directions.
At length the jays arrived, whose discordant screams were heard long
before, as they were warily making their approach an eighth of a mile
off; and in a stealthy and sneaking manner they flit from tree to tree,
nearer and nearer, and pick up the kernels which the squirrels have
dropped. Then, sitting on a pitch-pine bough, they attempt to swallow in
their haste a kernel which is too big for their throats and chokes them;
and after great labor they disgorge it, and spend an hour in the
endeavor to crack it by repeated blows with their bills. They were
manifestly thieves, and I had not much respect for them; but the
squirrels, though at first shy, went to work as if they were taking what
was their own.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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