Life in the forest is very different from life in the meadow, and the
forest people have many ways of doing which are not known in the world
outside. They are a quiet people and do not often talk or sing when
there are strangers near. You could never get acquainted with them until
you had learned to be quiet also, and to walk through the underbrush
without snapping twigs at every step. Then, if you were to live among
them and speak their language, you would find that there are many things
about which it is not polite to talk. And there is a reason for all
this.
In the meadow, although they have their quarrels and their own troubles,
they always make it up again and are friendly, but in the forest there
are some people who can never get along well together, and who do not go
to the same parties or call upon each other. It is not because they are
cross, or selfish, or bad. It is just because of the way in which they
have to live and hunt, and they cannot help it any more than you could
help having eyes of a certain color.
These are things which are all understood in the forest, and the people
there are careful what they say and do, so they get on very well indeed,
and have many happy times in that quiet, dusky place. When people are
born there, they learn these things without thinking about it, but when
they come there from some other place it is very hard, for everybody
thinks it stupid in strangers to ask about such simple matters.
When Mr. Red Squirrel first came to the forest, he knew nothing of the
way in which they do, and he afterward said that learning forest manners
was even harder than running away from his old home. You see, Mr. Red
Squirrel was born in the forest, but was carried away from there when he
was only a baby. From that time until he was grown, he had never set
claw upon a tree, and all he could see of the world he had seen by
peeping through the bars of a cage. His cousins in the forest learned to
frisk along the fence-tops and to jump from one swaying branch to
another, but when this poor little fellow longed for a scamper he could
only run around and around in a wire wheel that hummed as it turned, and
this made him very dizzy.
He used to wonder if there were nothing better in life, for he had been
taken from his woodland home when he was too young to remember about it.
One day he saw another Squirrel outside, a dainty little one who looked
as though she had never a sad thought. That made him care more than ever
to be free, and when he curled down in his cotton nest that night he
dreamed about her, and that they were eating acorns together in a tall
oak tree.
The next day Mr. Red Squirrel pretended to be sick. He would not run in
the wheel or taste the food in his cage. When his master came to look at
him, he moaned pitifully and would not move one leg. His master thought
that the leg was broken, and took limp little Mr. Red Squirrel in his
hand to the window to see what was the matter. The window was up, and
when he saw his chance, Mr. Red Squirrel leaped into the open air and
was away to the forest. His poor legs were weak from living in such a
small cage, but how he ran! His heart thumped wildly under the soft fur
of his chest, and his breath came in quick gasps, and still he ran,
leaping, scrambling, and sometimes falling, but always nearer the great
green trees of his birthplace.
At last he was safe and sat trembling on the lowest branch of a
beech-tree. The forest was a new world to him and he asked many
questions of a fat, old Gray Squirrel. The Gray Squirrel was one of
those people who know a great deal and think that they know a great,
great deal, and want others to think so too. He was so very knowing and
important that, although he answered all of Mr. Red Squirrel's
questions, he really did not tell him any of the things which he most
wanted to know, and this is the way in which they talked:
"What is the name of this place?" asked Mr. Red Squirrel.
"This? Why this is the forest, of course," answered the Gray Squirrel.
"We have no other name for it. It is possible that there are other
forests in the world, but they cannot be so fine as this, so we call
ours 'the forest.'"
"Are there pleasant neighbors here?" asked Mr. Red Squirrel.
"Very good, very good. My wife and I do not call on many of them, but
still they are good enough people, I think."
"Then why don't you call?"
"Why? Why? Because they are not in our set. It would never do." And the
Gray Squirrel sat up very straight indeed.
"Who is that gliding fellow on the ground below?" asked the newcomer.
"Is he one of your friends?"
"That? That is the Rattlesnake. We never speak to each other. There has
always been trouble between our families."
"Who lives in that hollow tree yonder?"
"Sh, sh! That is where the Great Horned Owl has his home. He is asleep
now and must not be awakened, for Squirrels and Owls cannot be
friendly."
"Why not?"
"Because. It has always been so."
"And who is that bird just laying an egg in her nest above us?"
"Speak softly, please. That is the Cowbird, and it is not her nest. You
will get into trouble if you talk such things aloud. She can't help it.
She has to lay her eggs in other birds' nests, but they don't like it."
Mr. Red Squirrel tried very hard to find out the reason for this, but
there are always some things for which no reason can be given; and there
are many questions which can never be answered, even if one were to
ask, "Why? why? why?" all day long. So Mr. Red Squirrel, being a wise
little fellow, stopped asking, and thought by using his eyes and ears he
would in time learn all that he needed to know. He had good eyes and
keen ears, and he learned very fast without making many mistakes. He had
a very happy life among the forest people, and perhaps that was one
reason. He learned not to say things which made his friends feel badly,
and he did not ask needless questions. And after all, you know, it would
have been very foolish to ask questions which nobody could answer, and
worse than foolish to ask about matters which he could find out for
himself.
It is in the forest as in the world outside. We can know that many
things are, but we never know why they are.
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