DOWN THE NEAR SIDE OF THE TRUNK WAS A DEEP AND WIDE NEW SCAR 172 ‘AND TO THINK IT WAS THIS HERE LITTLE RED RASCAL’ 184 A SMALL BLUE FLAME ILLUMINATED THREE EAGER FACES 194 ANOTHER MOMENT FOUND ME COMFORTABLY PERCHED IN THE BRANCHES OF THE HAZEL-BUSHES 208 THE DOG BOUNDED HIGH, BUT I WAS SAFELY OUT OF HIS REACH 224 THE LIFE STORY OF A SQUIRREL CHAPTER I MY FIRST ADVENTURE It was a perfect June morning, not a breath stirring, and the sun fairly baking down till the whole air was full of the hot resinous scent of pine-needles; but, warm as it was, I was shivering as I lay out on the tip of a larch-bough and looked down. I was not giddy—a squirrel never is. But that next bough below me, where my mother was sitting, seemed very far away, and I could not help thinking what a tremendous fall it would be to the ground, supposing I happened to miss my landing-place. I am too old now to blush at the recollection of it, and I don’t mind confessing that at the time I was in what I have since heard called a blue funk. The fact is, it was my first jumping and climbing lesson. Even squirrels have to learn to climb, just as birds have to be taught by their parents to fly. My mother called me by my name, Scud, sitting up straight, and looking at me encouragingly with her pretty black eyes. But I still hesitated, crouching low on my branch and clinging tight to it with all four sets of small sharp claws. Mother grew a trifle impatient, and called to my brother Rusty to take my place. This was too much for me. I took my courage in both fore-paws, set my teeth, and launched myself desperately into the air. I came down flat on my little white stomach, but as at that time I weighed rather less than four ounces, and the bough below was soft and springy, I did not knock the wind out of myself, as one of you humans would have done if you had fallen in the same way. Mother gave a little snort. She did not approve of my methods, and told me I should spread my legs wider and make more use of my tail. Then she turned and gave a low call to Rusty to follow. Even at that early age—we were barely a month old—Rusty was a heavier and rather slower-going squirrel than I. But he already showed that bull-dog courage which was so strong a trait all through his after-life. He crawled deliberately to the very end of the branch, then simply let go and tumbled all in a heap right on the top of us. It was extremely lucky for him that mother was so quick as she was. She made a rapid bound forward, and caught her blundering son by the loose skin at the back of his neck just in time to save him from going headlong to the ground, quite fifty feet below. She panted with fright as she lifted him to a place of safety with a little shake. Rusty looked a trifle sulky, and mother gave him an affectionate pat to soothe him down.