THE MOVING OF THE YOUNG
[Illustration]
IT was very early in the morning, soon after sunrise, that they took the
hazard of moving the young. Silvergray had fed the babies and looked out
and about, and had come back and looked again. Then, picking up the
nearest by the scruff of its neck, she rose to the doorway. Now a great
racket sounded in the woods. Silvergray backed in again and down,
dropped the young one, then put her head out. The noise increased, the
trampling of heavy feet. She backed till only her nose was out, and
watched. Soon there came in view huge red-and-white creatures with
horns. She had often seen them, and held them harmless, but why were
they moving so fast? There were other noises coming, much smaller,
indeed, but oh, how much more dangerous were the two that followed and
drove the herd!--a tow-topped boy and a yellow-coated dog. At war with
all the world of harmless wood-folk, these two would leave a trail of
slaughtered bodies in their wake, if only their weapons were as deadly
as their wishes. So Silvergray sank back and brooded over the nursery,
varying her loving mothering with violent scratching of a hind foot, or
sudden pounce to capture with her teeth some shiny, tiny creeping thing
among the bed stuff or on the young ones' fluffy skins.
The sun was up above the trees. The Bluejay sang
"_Too-root-el-too-root-el_," which means, "all clear." And the glad Red
Singing-Hawk was wheeling in great rhythmic swoops to the sound of his
own wild note, "_Kyo-kyo-kyoooo._" He wheeled and rejoiced in his song
and his flight.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"All's clear! All's well!" sang Crow and Bluejay--these watchful ones,
watchful, perforce, because their ways of rapine have filled the world
with enemies. And Silvergray prepared a second time for the perilous
trip. She took the nearest of her babies, gently but firmly, and,
scrambling to the door, paused to look and listen, then took the final
plunge, went scurrying and scrambling down the trunk. On the ground she
paused again, looked forward and back, then to the old nest to see her
mate go in and come out again with a young one in his mouth, as though
he knew exactly what was doing and how his help was needed. With an
angry "_Quare!_" she turned and scrambled up again, bumping the baby
she bore with many a needless jolt, and met Bannertail. Nothing less
than rage was in her voice, "_Quare, quare, quare!_" and she sprang at
him. He could not fail to understand. He dropped the baby on a broad,
safe crotch, and whisked away to turn and gaze with immeasurable
surprise. "Isn't that what you wanted, you hothead?" he seemed to say.
"Didn't we plan to move the kids?" Her only answer was a hissing
"_Quare!_" She rushed to the stranded little one, made one or two vain
efforts to carry it, as well as the one already in her mouth, then
bounded back to the old home with her own charge, dropped it, came
rushing back for the second, took that home, too, then vented all her
wrath and warnings in a loud, long "_Qua!_" which plainly meant: "You
let the kids alone. I don't need your help. I wouldn't trust you.
This is a mother's job."
[Illustration: WITH AN ANGRY "QUARE!" SILVERGRAY SCRAMBLED UP AGAIN]
She stayed and brooded over them a long time before making the third
attempt. And this time the impulse came from the tickling crawlers in
the bed. She looked forth, saw Bannertail sitting up high, utterly
bewildered. She gave a great warning "_Qua!_" seized number one for the
third time, and forth she leaped to make the great migration.
The wood was silent except for its own contented life, and she got
half-way to the new nest, when high on a broad, safe perch she paused
and set her burden down. Was it the maddening tickling of a crawler that
gave the hint, or was it actual wisdom in the lobes behind those liquid
eyes? Who knows? Only this is sure, she looked that baby over from end
to end. She hunted out and seized in her teeth and ground to shreds ten
of the plaguing crawlers. She combed herself, she scratched and
searched her coat from head to tail, and on her neck, where she could
not see, she combed and combed, till of this she was certain, no insects
of the tickling, teasing kind were going with her to the new home. Then
seizing her baby by the neck-scruff, up she bounded, and in ten
heart-beats he was lying in their new and fragrant bed.
For a little while she cuddled him there, to "bait him to it," as the
woodsmen say. Then, with a parting licking of his head, she quit the
nest and hied away for the rest of the brood.
Bannertail had taken the hint. He was still up high, watching, but not
going near the old nest.
Silvergray took number two and did the very same with him, deloused him
thoroughly on the same old perch, then left him with the first. The
third went through the same. And Silvergray was curled up with the
three in the new high nest for long, before Bannertail, after much
patient, watchful waiting, seeing no return of Silvergray, went swinging
to the old nest to peep in, and realized that it was empty, cold,
abandoned.
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He sat and thought it over. On a high, sunny perch that he had often
used, he made his toilet, as does every healthy Squirrel, thoroughly
combed his coat and captured all, that is, one or two of the crawlers
that had come from the old nest. He drank of the spring, went foraging
for a while, then swung to the new-made nest and shyly, cautiously,
dreading a rebuff, went slowly in. Yes, there they were. But would she
take him in? He uttered the low, soft, coaxing "_Er-er-er-er_," which
expresses every gentleness in the range of Squirrel thought and feeling.
No answer. He made no move, but again gave a coaxing "_Er-er-er_," a
long pause, then from the hovering furry form in the nest came one soft
"_Er_," and Bannertail, without reserve, glided in and curled about them
all.
_THE COMING-OUT PARTY_