The life story of a squirrelBridges, T. C. (Thomas Charles)
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The life story of a squirrel
Bridges, T. C. (Thomas Charles)
Squirrels -- Juvenile fiction; Squirrels -- Juvenile literature
Nearer he came, and now I saw that he was almost my own double. His head
was stretched out at right angles to his body, and his eyes, bright
as two jewels, were fixed upon me with intensest curiosity. Presently
he reached the lowest bough, and there stood motionless as I was, and
staring at me with a strange intensity. The calls of kindred were
clamouring in my veins, and all of a sudden the spell was broken. Without
one backward look at my dear master, I jumped from the log, raced across
the ground between it and the tree, and with one rattle of claws was up
on the huge, lowest branch.
But behold! the apparition which had attracted me had disappeared, and I
stared round in fresh wonder. Suddenly came a little sharp cry, and down
from the leaves above me dropped—my mother herself! She gave a sharp bark
of astonishment.
Then I remembered! A mad transport of joy thrilled me through and
through, and with one wild dash I tore away up the tree, corkscrewing
madly round and round the huge trunk in the way we squirrels have when
joy is beyond expression.
Mother was with me, and next instant a third squirrel joined in our mad
frolic. It was my brother Rusty, the squirrel whom I had seen first of
all, and had failed to recognize after our long separation. Before I
reached the top, yet a fourth frantic dot of red fur was flashing round
and round, barking madly, and I knew her for my sister Hazel. I think
we were all quite mad with joy for the time being, and we never ceased
our crazy scamperings until, quite out of breath, we landed all together
in a fork among the branches high up in the leafy summit of the tall
beech-tree. There we sat and began a talk that lasted I don’t know how
long. It was the most curious thing. I had been away from them all so
long, and become so accustomed to human talk, that I could hardly make my
family understand my adventures, and they, on their part, were surprised
beyond measure that any of the humans, whom they had so long looked upon
as their hereditary enemies, could possibly have been so kind to me.
But at last they had all my story, and then, and not till then, did the
recollection of Jack come back to me.
When I announced my intention of going down again to find my master,
mother evidently thought I was quite out of my senses.
‘But you have escaped. Surely you do not want to go back to live in your
prison!’ she urged.
[Illustration: THE BOYS NEVER MOVED OR SPOKE.]
I explained all over again what a good friend he had been to me, how he
had saved my life, how he had fed me with all sorts of dainties; indeed,
I strongly recommended her and my brother and sister to come with me.
There was plenty of room, I said, and I waxed enthusiastic over the
unlimited supplies of nuts, and fruit, and grain without any trouble in
looking for them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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