squirmed about, curling their toes, stretching their long legs, and
cocking their ears to listen for the mother bunny’s step. At last they
heard the soft thump-thump-thump of her furry paws as she came leaping
over the grass from the bushes where she had been dozing. How joyfully
the babies wriggled at sight of her! As soon as she had lifted the
blanket and crept underneath they snuggled close to her. They were
hungry for the warm milk which she had always ready for them to drink.
As the days passed the little bunnies began to grow too big for the
nest. Their hind-legs felt stronger and stronger for jumping. Indeed,
the bravest bunny had a naughty way of kicking his brothers and
sisters. He set his heels against their soft sides and pushed in hard
jerks, for the fun of making them squirm and squeal. Sometimes they
kicked back, but not very often, because they were afraid to make much
noise.
Their mother taught them to be as still as they could while she was
absent. The only way for such helpless little creatures to escape being
eaten by their many enemies was to keep out of sight. Snakes would not
notice them if they stayed quiet in the nest. Hungry hawks and owls
could not find out where they were hidden if they did not move. The bit
of a blanket looked like a patch of dead grass. Foxes and wild-cats and
the rest could not smell them so long as they lay still.
They were timid little things, and their ears seemed to be always
twitching to catch the least sounds. On some warm afternoons they
woke up early, and waited for the mother to bring their supper of
milk. Outside they heard the plop of grasshoppers jumping from stem
to stalk. The flutter of butterflies and the buzzing of bees over the
clover-blossoms sounded loud enough. The shrill whirring of a locust
made them tremble and quake. Perhaps they were afraid that it was
something coming to eat them up.
When the bunnies were strong enough to leave the nest they went to
live in the brush with their mother. Away they all galloped over the
grass. Their long ears flapped up and down, and the furry soles of
their hind-legs twinkled behind them. They did not stop to look around
till they were safe in the shelter of the bushes. Then every one of
them turned, and sat up on his haunches with his little fore-paws in
the air. With their ears pointed forward, and their round eyes shining,
they looked back at the grassy spot where they had lived in the hidden
cosy nest.
At that very minute, when they were all so excited and happy, the old
mother caught sight of a fox stealing after them. At a sign from her
the little bunnies sat as still as if they were made of stone. They
were almost the same color as the sticks and dry leaves around them.
Nobody would notice them unless they should move.
But that sly old fox was not looking for them with his eyes; he was
following their tracks, with his nose close to the ground. He smelled
his way nearer and nearer. The trembling babies could see the sharp
white teeth between his lips. His narrow eyes gleamed hungrily.
Finally he crept so near that he could smell them in the air. They saw
him lift his head and snuff in their direction, one of his fore-paws
raised for the next step.
Suddenly the mother bunny sprang out before his face and darted off
helter-skelter into the woods. She wanted to lead the fox away from
her little ones. Away she dashed under the bushes and over the logs,
up slopes and down gullies, dodging now this way now that. Once he was
so close that he opened his jaws to seize her. At that she turned like
a flash, and ran right between his legs. Then into a swamp she went
bounding in great leaps. There the fox lost sight of her, and could
not find her scent in the water. She left him nosing hungrily back and
forth, while she hurried back to her babies. They were sitting as still
as stones just where she had told them to stay.
Almost the first thing the mother bunny did, after gathering her family
in the woods, was to find different holes for hiding-places. One hole
was in a hollow stump, and another was in an old woodchuck-burrow. She
told the little ones that they must not go near the holes, except when
they could not escape in any other way. If they went often they would
make a path, and then their enemies could find out their hiding-places.
It was pleasant there in the underbrush of the woods. They felt almost
safe with briers above them to keep away their hungry enemies. The
smell of the mossy earth was warm and sweet. The buds and leaves and
bark were spicy and fragrant. The bunnies sniffed hither and thither,
twitching their noses and jerking their ears.
When they stopped living on milk they learned to feed on grasses and
juicy roots and twigs. The old mother showed them what was good to eat.
Like the beavers and squirrels the bunnies belonged to the _Order of
Gnawers_. Each one had four little nibbling teeth in the front of his
mouth, and grinding teeth in the back. They did not have such strong
teeth as the beavers, who could cut down trees, or the squirrels, who
gnawed hard nuts.
[Illustration: THE RABBIT.
“It was pleasant there in the underbrush of the woods.” _Page 84._]
Though the bunnies could not fight well, because they had no sharp
claws and teeth, they could jump higher and farther and faster than
any of their cousins. They soon found out that the best way to escape
when chased by their enemies was to trust in the nimbleness of their
legs.
Of course when they saw any hungry animal looking for something to
eat it was best for them to lie perfectly still so as to avoid being
seen. But if the animal caught sight of them they must run and dodge
and double and hide for their lives. It was generally wiser to keep on
running till the other lost the scent rather than to creep into a hole.
If the hungry hunter happened to be a mink or a weasel he could crawl
in after them and kill them.
The bunnies did not try to dig their own holes. They were really hares,
though they were so much like rabbits, who were true burrowers. Once in
the woods the bravest bunny saw a true rabbit. This rabbit had a family
of little ones in a deep burrow. They had been born blind and naked,
but the little hares had been born with their eyes open and fur on
their bodies. True rabbits were brought to America from across the sea.
In spite of their dangerous adventures the bunnies enjoyed the long
summer. Every morning at earliest dawn up they hopped from the forms.
The spot of flattened grass where each furry body had been resting was
called a “form.” Away to the clover-field they went leaping, one by
one. There they drank the dewdrops, and ate a breakfast of sweet green
leaves. They took a nibble here and a nibble there. Then they sat up
on their haunches and looked around to spy out a possible enemy. Their
round eyes twinkled this way and that, and their long ears twitched
nervously at every sound.
The twittering of the birds did not frighten them. They seemed to know
that there was no danger-signal in the rustling of leaves on the trees,
or the splashing of frogs in the pond. Even the crackle of twigs under
the footsteps of a deer did not send them running. They must have known
that grass-eating animals would not harm them.
But the stealthy wriggling of a snake in the grass sent them scurrying
wildly into the thickest underbrush. When they heard a stick crack
under the trees they seemed to know at once what kind of animal was
creeping near. At the soft tread of a fox or a wild-cat they sat as
still as stones, unless they knew that they had been seen. If that
happened they bounded away in a race for life.
When the sunshine fell bright on some sandy hillside the bunnies went
there, and stretched out like kittens in the pleasant warmth. They
squirmed and blinked and turned slowly over and over. They lay on
their backs and waved their paws in the air. They had five toes on
each fore-paw and four on each hind-paw. Even then, while twisting and
stretching in enjoyment, they were on the alert. At the sound of a caw
from a neighboring tree, or at the sight of a hawk hovering far above,
they all leapt to their feet, and scampered out of sight in a twinkling.
Then for hours they sat on their forms in the shade of the bushes
and dozed, half asleep, but ready to bound away at the first hint of
danger. The scream of a blue jay startled every bunny wide awake in
an instant. The jays always saw everything in the woods. The bunnies
waited, without stirring, till they could find out what the trouble
was. Sometimes it was a dog hunting for rabbits; sometimes it was
a snake coiled in the sun, or a baby fox playing with his own tail;
sometimes it was only a red squirrel chattering and scolding at the
blue jay.
On warm afternoons the winged ticks hovered about, biting the bunnies
on the tips of their ears and sensitive noses. Then the bunnies hid
under skunk cabbages in the marshy spots. The bad smell kept the ticks
away. It was cool and pleasant there. The five babies lay still,
listening to the soft whirring and drowsy buzzing of insects, in the
hot sunshine beyond the marsh.
After the sun went down the bunnies scattered to find their supper of
tender twigs or grasses or roots. Always, while they nibbled, they kept
twitching their ears forward and back. Every minute or two each one
paused to sit erect, and roll his bright eyes in all directions. All
the time his little jaws were working busily. Then perhaps they dressed
their fur coats, combing their ears with their paws, and biting the
burrs from their vests and socks.
Off with a hop, skip, and jump for a frolic in an open space in the
woods! What a gay time the five little bunnies had there with their
friends! They went leaping, one after another. Some tore through the
ferns and hopped over the logs, with their long ears flapping. They
sprang straight up into the air, kicking out their hind-legs. They
jumped over each other, and scurried wildly round and round. One
whirled about like a kitten, chasing his own short tail. The bravest
bunny danced on his hind-legs all alone in the moonlight.
When summer was over the cool days of autumn found the bunnies friskier
than ever. They had half a dozen smaller brothers and sisters by this
time, because the old mother had two or three nestfuls of little
ones in a year. There was plenty for everybody to eat in the woods
and fields. The little creatures feasted on roots and apples and
soft-shelled nuts till they grew round and sleek. The bravest bunny
became so fat and lazy that he hated to run. Whenever he was being
chased by any enemy he slipped into the first hole he saw. He would
certainly have been caught one day if the weasel behind him had not
happened to have a lame foot from his last fight. When he stopped to
untangle it from a strawberry-vine the bunny had time to escape.
Winter was hard on the bunny family. They could not run so fast through
the soft snow as on the firm ground. Their enemies could see their
footprints, and follow more easily. Often and often, when a little
fellow had gone out to nibble twigs and buds, he heard something move
behind him. And there, not far away, he saw a fox ready to spring on
him.
The bravest bunny slept under a rotten log. He always slept with his
legs doubled under him, fixed for a great jump away, in case any hungry
animal came nosing around. He did not mind the cold, for his fur was
fine and thick and warm. Even inside his mouth the soft fur grew, as
well as on the soles of his feet.
When spring came the bunnies were more glad than any of the other small
creatures in the woods. It was a joy to feel the warm breezes blow
their fur. They did not care so much for the warmth as for the tender
buds which it opened on the trees. Green leaves came peeping out of
the ground, and flowers blossomed in sheltered nooks.
Birds were singing, and frogs began their croaking in the meadows. The
woods were busy with the hurry-skurry of little feet. Now once more
there was plenty for everybody to eat. The bunnies were glad because of
that. But perhaps they were even more glad, because now their hungry
enemies could hunt many other animals besides the timid bunnies.
VII
THE SQUIRREL
“THE ONE WITH THE PRETTIEST TAIL”
THE ONE WITH THE PRETTIEST TAIL
THE four baby squirrels were tired of staying in their soft nest in the
hollow tree. They wanted to find out what was going on in the world
outside. As they cuddled together in the shadowy hole they could hear
the queerest sounds. They cocked their heads curiously at the rustling
and whispering of the wind among the leaves. They heard chirping and
singing and a silvery tinkle, tinkle from the brook. Once a bee flew
buzzing right over their heads, and made them clutch one another in
terror.
One morning, when the old mother squirrel was away hunting for birds’
eggs to eat, the smallest baby crept to the mouth of the hole and
peeped out with his round bright eyes. All around and above him there
were wonderful green things flickering and fluttering. Twinkles of
sunlight danced through the leaves and dazzled him. Something soft and
cool blew back the new bristles on his lips and ruffled his satiny red
fur. He was so much interested that he sat there, staring and staring,
till the other little ones began to squeak and scold him for shutting
out the light.
After he crept down again to the nest the others climbed up, one by
one, and looked out. They winked and blinked at each wonderful sight;
they sniffed the strange odors, and twitched their eager little heads
at every new sound. The scream of a blue jay in the tree-top above sent
them scampering inside again, to cuddle close together in the darkest
corner. It was fun to see something new and exciting, even if it did
make them shiver all over.
Soon the mother squirrel came springing from branch to branch to reach
the hollow. How the babies squeaked and chattered in welcome! Very
likely they told her about the wonderful sights and sounds and smells
in the strange world outside the hole. The smallest one clasped his
fore-paws around her neck, and coaxed her to let them all go out to
find more interesting things. It was stupid there in the dark nest,
with nothing to watch except the patch of light across the opening
above them.
The old squirrel knew that the little ones were not strong enough yet
to leave the nest. To be sure, they had grown and changed very much
since the first days. Then they had been ugly little creatures, like
tiny pug-dogs, with big heads, no fur, and their eyes tight shut. Now
they were half as big as she was herself. Their eyes were like jewels,
and their red fur was smooth as satin.
But their tails, with only fringes of hair along the sides, were not
nearly so fluffy as the mother’s. Her tail was long and plumy. It
curved so gracefully over her back that she seemed to be sitting in its
shadow. One name of the squirrel is “shadow-tail.”
For a few weeks longer the four babies scrambled about the doorway and
looked longingly out at the wonderful green tree-world. They did not
dare to step out upon the slender branches, for fear of falling off. It
made them feel dizzy to look away down to the ground below. They did
not know how to cling to the limbs with their feet while they balanced
themselves with their tails.
When the young squirrels were almost strong enough to learn to run and
climb in the tree, the mother began to build an airier home higher up
the trunk. The old nest was growing too warm for comfort, as summer
brought the long sunny hours. The squirrel father was not there to
help his mate. She had driven him away before the babies came. She
thought the tree belonged to her, and that she needed all the room in
the hollow for her little ones. She chased him off to live in the woods
with all the other squirrel fathers till the babies were big enough to
take care of themselves.
The mother squirrel worked on the new nest in the early morning. She
bit off leafy twigs and carried them to the top of the tree. There,
where two branches forked, she packed the sticks and leaves together
in a loose ball. Then she pushed a doorway through, at one side or
another, just as she happened to be standing. This was not such a neat
home as one in the next tree. That other mother squirrel built her new
nest of strips of bark tied together with ribbons of soft fibre. Over
the doorway she hung a curtain of bark, and lifted it up carefully
whenever she went inside.
At last the new home was ready. The old mother hurried down to the
hollow and called the babies to come out and follow her. They stepped
out, one after another, just as carefully as they could. The smallest
baby came last. He dug his claws into the bark and hung on. The branch
seemed so narrow that he trembled from fear of falling. The tree swayed
in the wind. The branch bounced up and down, and a leaf blew in his
face. The poor little fellow shut his eyes, because everything seemed
to be whirling round and round.
When he opened his eyes again he saw the three other little ones
climbing up the trunk above him. They clutched the bark with their
claws and moved forward, one paw at a time. The mother was running on
ahead of them. Every few steps she turned around to coax them on faster.
Finally they reached a narrow branch which led over to the new nest.
They crawled out on it, lifting one foot and then setting it down
before lifting another. The farther they crept the narrower the branch
grew under them. Their little paws began to slip over the smoother
bark. The one in front tried to turn around, but he was afraid of
losing his balance. So they all three scrambled backwards to the safe
trunk.
The mother ran back to them, and chattered and scolded. Again and again
they started out over the branch, and then went scrambling back. When
at last the mother had coaxed them across to the nest she looked around
for the smallest baby. There he was away down at the door of the old
nest. The old squirrel was tired out. Her fur was ruffled and her ears
drooped. She ran down to the nest and began to scold the little fellow.
He sat up and put his paws around her neck, as if he were begging her
to let him stay there. But she started him up the trunk and pushed him
along to the branch. Then she took hold of him by the neck and carried
him across to the new home.
After that the little ones were taken out every morning to practise
climbing. Little by little they learned to balance themselves on the
branches. Their tails were fluffy enough by this time to be of use in
balancing. First to one side, then to the other, each baby tilted his
tail as he crept along, step by step. Every day they could move a
little faster. Finally they were able to chase one another up and down,
from branch to branch. They went running around the trunks, skipping
and leaping from slender twig to twig, and jumping from one tree to
another, even through the air.
Sometimes one or another missed his footing after a reckless jump.
Often he caught hold of a branch below by a single toe and lifted
himself up to a firmer foothold. Or if there was no branch within
reach, he spread out his fur, and flattened his tail, and went sailing
down to the ground, almost as if he could fly. They never seemed to get
hurt.
The little squirrels appeared to be always doing something. They turned
summersaults in the grass, or swung by one paw from the tip of a tough
branch. There was always something to do or to see. Now they chattered
at a blue jay, or chased a toad for the fun of watching him hop. Now
they caught beetles to look at, or, safe in a tree, they scolded at
some fox slinking along through the woods. And every day there was the
excitement of finding something to eat.
The babies lived on milk till they were almost as heavy as their
mother. Then she began to feed them with fruit and buds and grubs,
which she first chewed for them. Like the beavers and the hares and
rabbits each had four chisel teeth in the front of its mouth. They
needed to gnaw hard nuts or bark every day to keep these teeth from
growing too long.
When the young squirrels were three months old in July they were big
enough to take care of themselves. Away they scampered from the old
home tree and found new homes in stumps and hollows. The smallest one
used to curl up in an old robin’s nest to sleep at night. All day long
they were just as busy as they could be.
There were cones to be gathered from the evergreens. The little
squirrels ran up the trees in a hurry, and, cutting off the cones
with their sharp teeth, tossed them over their shoulders to the
ground. Every few minutes they scurried down to bury the cones under
the pine-needles for the winter. Sometimes a drop of sticky pitch
from the cut stems was rubbed against their fur. That made them so
uncomfortable that they had to stop and lick it off.
The squirrels loved to be clean. Ever since they were tiny babies, with
their new red fur, they always helped one another with washing their
faces, and combing their tails with their claws. They were careful to
run along logs over a muddy spot. If one happened to get wet he dried
himself with his fluffy tail.
When they were tired of eating seeds and twigs they hunted for grubs.
Clinging to the bark of a dead tree they listened till they heard
something gnawing beneath the surface ever so softly. Then, tearing
off the bark in ragged pieces, they pounced upon the flat whitish grub
beneath and ate it up. They were fond of mushrooms, too, and seemed to
know which were poisonous and which were good to eat.
But the best time of all came in the autumn when nuts were ripe. Then
what fun the little squirrels had! Early every morning out popped
the little heads from the hollow stumps and logs. The big round eyes
twinkled eagerly in every direction. Then, whisk! they were out, with
a bark and a squeak! Scampering to the top of a tree each one took a
flying leap to a branch of the next. Up and down, on and across, they
followed the squirrel-paths through the woods till they reached the
grove, where the nuts were ripening.
It was a busy place, with little wings fluttering and little feet
pattering, and yellow leaves drifting down in the sunshine. All the
squirrels scurried to and fro, picking one nut here, and another there.
They sat on the branches, with their bushy tails curving over their
backs, and held the nuts in their fore-paws to nibble. The smallest
baby could open the hardest walnut, and clean it out in less than a
minute. In the oddest way he seemed to know exactly where to bore
through the shell so as to strike the broad side of the kernel.
All the while the blue jays and the thrifty chipmunks were gathering
nuts and corn, and hiding their stores away for the winter. That seemed
so interesting that the squirrels gathered some too. The smallest one
stuffed his cheeks full of nuts and scampered back to his latest home
in a hollow stump. The next mouthful he brought was hidden in a fork
of a tree and covered with leaves. Then he tucked away a few chestnuts
in the cracks of the bark on an oak-tree. By that time he was tired of
working at this, so he scurried around to find out how many nuts the
other young squirrels were saving for the winter.
Autumn passed away, and the days grew colder. In the woods the leaves
were all fallen and the branches were stripped bare of nuts. Every
morning when the squirrels poked out their heads the air nipped their
noses. Frost sparkled on the dead grass. The chipmunks had crept into
their holes for the winter, and most of the birds had flown away south.
The squirrels were not quite so gay now as in the autumn days, when
they danced upon the branches and whistled and chuckled over the good
things to eat and the curious sights to see. They slept with their
warm tails wrapped over their noses. They still ran busily through the
tree-tops, except when snow or icy rain kept them shut within their
holes. They ate all the nuts they could find, and dug up the buried
pine-cones. They climbed the hemlock-trees and ate the seeds. Sometimes
they found a delicious frozen apple or some forgotten acorns. Once the
smallest squirrel happened to dig up a heap of chestnuts from between
two stones under the snow. He could not remember whether he had hidden
them himself or not. How he snickered and danced when he saw them!