But first he made a visit into the big world. He went into the sitting-room, where there were ever so many tables and chairs for him to examine, and, best of all, a wide couch with many big soft pillows on it; and behind these pillows he would hide, and jump out at anybody’s fingers that came that way,—for all the world like a playful kitten. He had a fine time playing with the lady’s friends behind the pillows; and finally he climbed up the nice soft coat which her friend the gentleman who lived there had on, and got into his coat-pocket, and would not come out. It was cosey and dark there, and he liked it; and when anybody put in a hand to take him out, he would scream and nip at their fingers. [Illustration: LITTLE MITCHELL PLAYS WITH HIS TAIL “It was funny to see him hanging by his hind toes from his screen, head downward, and play with his tail.” (Page 174)] And this, my dears, was not playing at all,—it was real genuine naughtiness; for when he played he was careful never really to nip anybody,—he only made believe, you know. Well, the gentleman who lived there let him stay in his pocket until he was ready to go down town; then he called the lady, and she put in her hand, and Little Mitchell jumped at it and growled, but when he found whose hand it was he did not nip at all,—he would no more hurt his lady than he would hurt himself, no matter how naughty he felt. Well, the lady wanted to go away for a little while; so she put him into his box,—which was not an easy matter, for as fast as she got him in one side he squirmed out at the other, and screamed, and was very naughty indeed. Finally she got him in, and fastened the cover; but he acted so that she finally took him out and fastened him into the basket. When she got back, what do you think? Little Mitchell was not in the basket! He had gnawed a naughty great hole right through the pretty new basket, and had got out and was hiding in the closet in the folds of a dress that was hanging there. The next time he was missing, somebody found him among the papers in the bottom of a scrap-basket, where he sat, jumping at any strange fingers that came his way, and nipping them, and growling like a bad little bear, until his lady came and fished him out, screaming and squirming, but not nipping. Why do you suppose the gentle, timid little Baby Mitchell had all at once become such a naughty, self-willed squirrel? What _shall_ I do with him? thought the lady. She was afraid he would gnaw her friend’s furniture, and do all sorts of mischievous things; so whenever she was not there to take care of him, she had to keep him shut up in his little box, which was fast getting to be too small for him. One morning, as he sat on the window-sill eating a nut, he had a visit.