little fellow, so that he was glad to stay hidden away in his own box,
which was now the only thing that really seemed like home to him,—for
even the lady had changed her skin, or at least she had put on strange
clothes, which must have seemed to him just like changing her skin.
When they left New York on the train for Hartford,—which is where they
were going next,—Little Mitchell was let out of his box to sit on the
seat by the lady’s side and eat his dinner of roasted chestnuts and
cooky. They still had some of the big, sweet Grandmother chestnuts,
which they had brought with them, and which had all been nicely
roasted, though Little Mitchell was beginning to enjoy a bit of raw
chestnut by this time. Still, he preferred the roasted ones, and was
able to pick them out from a handful of both kinds.
When he had finished his chestnut, he climbed up on the back of the
seat, and looked at an old lady, who fell in love with him on the spot,
and wanted ever so much to hold him in her hand; but do you think he
would allow it? Not he. He jumped up on his own lady’s shoulder, and
then sprang down into her lap and hid in the folds of her dress.
He was still such a baby, you see!
It is not a very long ride from New York to Hartford, as you know; and
when they got off the train it was almost dark, and there was a friend
waiting for them, and soon they were driving along over nice smooth
streets that did not jolt them at all. Then they came to a driveway
under big trees, and to a house with the windows all lighted up; and
here they got out of the carriage, and some more friends came to the
door to meet them. They were in Hartford at last.
VIII
LITTLE MITCHELL GOES TO BOSTON
No doubt Little Mitchell was glad enough to go to sleep that night in a
box that stayed still instead of waggling about as it had done for so
long a time on the train.
It was a very hot night, although rather late in the season for such
warm weather in Hartford. It was so warm that the lady did not like to
shut Little Mitchell up in his box, even though it had so many holes in
it. So she left the cover off, and just before going to bed she looked
in to see how he was getting along.
Well, there he lay, on his back, with his head resting on the edge of
the box and his arms up over his head, for all the world like a hot,
tired, human little baby.
He looked so cunning that the lady called some of her friends to see
him; but by that time the light had waked him up, and he stretched and
yawned and curled up after the usual fashion of squirrels when they go
to sleep.
He was up bright and early next morning, racing about the room, playing
hide-and-seek with the lady under the bed-clothes, and having a grand
time.
The lady’s friend thought his little box too close and small for him,
and gave him a nice large basket; but he did not like to sleep in that
at all, and cried and scratched so when he was put in to take a nap
that the lady let him out. And then what do you think he did?
Why, he ran straight to his own little box and crept in and curled up
and went to sleep there.
But first he made a visit into the big world. He went into the
sitting-room, where there were ever so many tables and chairs for
him to examine, and, best of all, a wide couch with many big soft
pillows on it; and behind these pillows he would hide, and jump out at
anybody’s fingers that came that way,—for all the world like a playful
kitten.
He had a fine time playing with the lady’s friends behind the pillows;
and finally he climbed up the nice soft coat which her friend the
gentleman who lived there had on, and got into his coat-pocket, and
would not come out. It was cosey and dark there, and he liked it; and
when anybody put in a hand to take him out, he would scream and nip at
their fingers.
[Illustration: LITTLE MITCHELL PLAYS WITH HIS TAIL
“It was funny to see him hanging by his hind toes from his screen, head
downward, and play with his tail.” (Page 174)]
And this, my dears, was not playing at all,—it was real genuine
naughtiness; for when he played he was careful never really to nip
anybody,—he only made believe, you know.
Well, the gentleman who lived there let him stay in his pocket until he
was ready to go down town; then he called the lady, and she put in her
hand, and Little Mitchell jumped at it and growled, but when he found
whose hand it was he did not nip at all,—he would no more hurt his
lady than he would hurt himself, no matter how naughty he felt.
Well, the lady wanted to go away for a little while; so she put him
into his box,—which was not an easy matter, for as fast as she got him
in one side he squirmed out at the other, and screamed, and was very
naughty indeed.
Finally she got him in, and fastened the cover; but he acted so that
she finally took him out and fastened him into the basket.
When she got back, what do you think? Little Mitchell was not in the
basket! He had gnawed a naughty great hole right through the pretty new
basket, and had got out and was hiding in the closet in the folds of a
dress that was hanging there.
The next time he was missing, somebody found him among the papers in
the bottom of a scrap-basket, where he sat, jumping at any strange
fingers that came his way, and nipping them, and growling like a bad
little bear, until his lady came and fished him out, screaming and
squirming, but not nipping.
Why do you suppose the gentle, timid little Baby Mitchell had all at
once become such a naughty, self-willed squirrel?
What _shall_ I do with him? thought the lady. She was afraid he would
gnaw her friend’s furniture, and do all sorts of mischievous things;
so whenever she was not there to take care of him, she had to keep him
shut up in his little box, which was fast getting to be too small for
him.
One morning, as he sat on the window-sill eating a nut, he had a visit.
Along came a big reddish yellowish squirrel, as large as a full-grown
gray one, but all fluffy,—a very handsome, afraid-of-nobody sort
of fellow, who sat on the window-sill on the other side of the wire
screen, and looked in at Little Mitchell.
How do you suppose Little Mitchell received this pretty visitor? He
just dropped his nut with a squeal, and scampered off as if the old cat
were after him, and went and hid in the corner under the table.
You wouldn’t consider that very good manners, would you? But then, you
see, he was really only a baby, and had not yet learned how to behave.
There were a great many squirrels about the lady’s friend’s place. The
grounds were large, with fine big trees and wide lawns,—just the kind
of place squirrels like, for nobody can shoot them there, and they know
it.
So all about were squirrels,—little red fellows, and big gray fellows,
and once in a while a big, tawny fluffy fellow such as came to visit
Little Mitchell. Well, these squirrels played a great deal, scampering
about the lawn and racing over the branches of the trees, which made
bridges for them high up in the air. And oh, how they would jump! It
was enough to make one dizzy to look at them.
But when the chestnuts that grew on the big trees back of the house
were ripe, then was the time of joy for all these squirrels.
They had their own trouble in getting their share of the nuts,—what
with the boys and all the other people who wanted them,—but you may be
sure the squirrels got more than anybody else.
There were so many squirrels hunting for nuts!—and I am sorry to say
they were not all as honest as they might have been.
The little red squirrels were the quickest, and got the most nuts;
but they didn’t keep the most, because there were those rascally gray
squirrels, which were nimble-witted if they were not nimble-footed.
You know what the squirrels do with their nuts. They hide them. If they
do not find a good place in a hollow tree or somewhere, then they just
dig a little hole and bury the nut in the ground.
One day Little Mitchell’s lady was sitting by a window that looked out
on the lawn at the back of the house, and this is what she saw.
Along came a little red squirrel with a nut in his mouth. He dug a hole
in the ground with his little paws, very fast indeed. Then he tucked
the nut in, covered it up, and patted the dirt and grass all down nice
and smooth over it.
This done, he scampered off and got another nut and buried it in the
same way, and then another and another, until he had planted quite a
space with his nuts. Then off he went, and I am sure you could not have
found one of those nuts, he had hidden them so cleverly, patting the
earth and grass down over them, so that the places where they were did
not show at all.
But if you could not have found them, there was somebody else who could.
The little red squirrel had no sooner hidden his last nut and gone off,
than along came a big gray squirrel. Hop, hop, he came, his nose to the
ground. Then he stopped, and began to dig very fast with his hands,
and—pop!—out came one of the nuts the little red squirrel had so
carefully hidden!
Then the big gray mischief bounded off to the other side of the lawn,
where _he_ dug a hole and buried that nut! His hole was deeper,—very
likely too deep for the little red fellow to get his nut again, though
I am not sure about that. But, anyway, the gray squirrel dug up all the
poor little red fellow’s nuts, and went off and hid them, one by one,
somewhere else.
The lady sat at the window and watched this mischief. Then the gray
squirrel sprang up a tree and went tearing across the grove chattering
like mad.
No, not because he felt so proud of what he had done, but because a
blue-jay was after him.
There were blue-jays in the grove, too, and they were always tormenting
the squirrels, chasing them and screaming at them as though they meant
to do all sorts of things to them.
Little Mitchell did not see these things going on among his kinsfolk,
because he would have nothing to do with any other squirrels. He would
not even look at them; and if one came near the window where he was, he
always scampered off and hid.
One day the lady took Little Mitchell down town with her. He was in
his little box, you know, because she could not quite trust him to go
without it. She was afraid he would jump on somebody’s back, or do
something dreadful on the electric car; so she shut him up in his box,
and took him along.
You couldn’t guess where they went!
It was to the photographer’s, to see if he could take Little Mitchell’s
picture. The man said he would try.
They put Little Mitchell up on a stand; but he wouldn’t stay. They did
everything they could think of, but it was of no use,—he wouldn’t keep
still one second.
At last the lady sat down, and tried to coax him to sit still with
her; but he wouldn’t do that, either. He jumped up on her shoulder,
and cocked his tail up over his head,—it was quite a tail by this
time,—and peeped out at the photographer, and at the queer box with a
glass eye that kept pointing at him. The photographer snapped, the way
they do when they take a picture; but Little Mitchell was too quick
for him, and gave his tail a flirt that spoiled the picture.
Then the photographer got all ready again; but this time, just as he
was about to take the picture, Little Mitchell jumped up on his lady’s
head,—and that, of course, wouldn’t do.
So they got all ready again, with Little Mitchell sitting on his lady’s
knee; but again he flirted off, just in time to spoil the picture.
Then he climbed up on his lady’s arm, and the photographer whistled,
and Little Mitchell cocked up his tail and his ears,—just as you see
him in the picture,—and listened, and in a trice the man had pressed
the bulb and the restless Little Mitchell had his picture taken after
all. Whether it was a success or not, you can decide for yourself; for
it is the frontispiece to this very book.
When the lady was ready to go, she could not find Little Mitchell. That
is because he was in the photographer’s pocket. He had climbed in there
to hide away after the excitement of having his picture taken; and at
last the photographer laughed, for he knew the little rascal was there
all the time, and hauled him out, squirming and protesting, and handed
him to the lady.
In a few days she was ready to go on to Boston; and she said she
would be glad to get there, so as to have a suitable place for Little
Mitchell, where he would not have to be shut up so much and yet could
not get into mischief.
So they said good-bye to the Hartford friends, and started for Boston,
Little Mitchell in his little box, which he did not like at all.
They had their lunch on the train, and Little Mitchell’s lunch was
chestnuts and chinkapins, which he ate sitting in the corner of the
seat next the window. But his lady had some very dainty sandwiches,
made of thin slices of bread and butter with cream cheese between.
Presently Little Mitchell smelled the lady’s lunch, and it smelled
better than his own; so he threw down his nut and ran up on her arm and
tried to take her sandwich away from her.
She said no, for she feared it might not agree with him; but he said
yes, he would have some, and he snatched and got a crumb which he
crowded into his mouth.
The lady set him down on the seat and gave him his nut; but he threw
it down, and again snatched at her sandwich. He nearly got it all this
time, but the lady caught it away just in time. Then he began to scream
and struggle and fight for the sandwich, until the people in the car
began to laugh, and then the lady gave him a little piece, and he sat
up very straight, eating cheese sandwich and looking as solemn as an
owl.
When they neared Boston, there was a struggle to get him into his box;
for he had decided he wouldn’t go. But this time he had to; and the
minute they got off the train the lady drove to a bird-store and got a
big wire squirrel-cage to take home with her.
As soon as she was in her own room, she let Little Mitchell out. Such
a relief as it was to get him safely there! And such a time as he had
getting acquainted with his new home! He went all about the room,—over
the couch, on the table, all through the bookcase, and even into the
closet where the lady hung her dresses.
[Illustration: LITTLE MITCHELL PLAYS WITH A STRING
“Across the room and back again he would chase it.” (Page 190)]
Then he helped her to unpack her trunk and put everything away. Of
course the way he helped was to get under her feet or her hands and be
in the way all the time as much as possible.
Then the lady put him in the big new cage, and shut the door. He walked
all around it, and then got into the wheel. You know the wire wheel
that is always in a squirrel-cage? As soon as he moved, of course the
wheel began to turn, and he began to run. The faster he ran the faster
it turned, until he fairly flew.
At last his legs ached so he could run no more, and he stopped, and
then the wonderful wheel stopped too; but as soon as he took a step,
it turned again. Finally he jumped out; but in a few minutes he went
back and tried it again. He thought it was splendid fun; and so all in
a minute, without any teaching, Little Mitchell learned how to use his
play-wheel.
The lady stood close by the cage and watched him, for she feared he
might be frightened by it, and if he had seemed at all troubled she was
ready to put in her hand and stop the wheel until he gradually learned
how to use it.
IX
LITTLE MITCHELL’S HAPPY DAYS
Little Mitchell was a very happy squirrel in his Boston home. His
lady’s room had a large bay-window in the end, that looked out over
the tops of the houses and away off up the beautiful Charles River;
and there was a large platform, almost like a little room, in the
bay-window, and here, by the side of the writing-table, stood his cage.
Its door was always open when the lady was at home, and he had glorious
frolics all about the big room.
He climbed everywhere, but the best fun was racing over the Japanese
screen. The lady had no tree for him to climb, so she gave him the
screen to play with; and up and down it he would go, now this side,
now that. But he had the best time biting the eyes out of the birds on
the screen and unravelling the embroidery.
Then he would sit up on top of the screen and gnaw away at the wooden
frame. You see, when he was spoiling the screen he was not spoiling
anything else; and as he liked the screen better than anything else,
his lady said he might as well eat it up if he wanted to, so she gave
it to him.
It was very funny to see him go up the side of the screen, which stood
upright, you know, like the wall of a house. His claws were as sharp as
a cat’s, and he would hold on by his front feet, and jump up with his
hind feet and get a new hold with his front ones, and so on. He looked
as though he went hopping up the screen. And it was funnier still when
he came down head-first.
But funniest of all was to see him hang by his hind toes, head down,
and play with his tail! He was very fond of playing with his tail,
and when he was on the floor he would often chase it just as a kitten
does. It was a fine tail by this time, long and bushy; and when he got
excited he would fluff it out until it looked like a real grown-up
squirrel’s tail.
But talking of tails, the most outrageously funny thing Little Mitchell
ever did was to roll himself up into a ball, with his tail hugged in
his arms and held between his teeth, then go over and over, like a
ball, from one end of the platform to the other.
The first time the lady saw him, she was rather startled,—she could
not imagine for a moment what that queer soft-looking ball was, rolling
so fast about the platform. How she did laugh when she saw that it was
only Little Mitchell amusing himself! She had never seen a squirrel or
anything else act like that before.
He was so funny playing about the room, hanging by his toes from the
screen and rolling around like a ball, that the lady could do nothing
but watch him when he was out of the cage. She said he wasted all her
time; and he certainly did waste a great deal of it.
The first thing in the morning, he had to be fed and given a drink of
fresh water. He ate all sorts of nuts now, but he would not crack the
hard ones himself. The lady used to bring home any nice new nuts that
she saw when she was out, and Little Mitchell was always on hand to
open her parcels. He enjoyed opening them as much as you do when your
mother comes home from shopping. If he found nuts, he would get into
the bag and paw them all over, and at last run off with one. If there
were no nuts, he would sniff at everything, and then go off, though
sometimes he found something he liked to play with in the parcels.
When he was hungry, he insisted on sitting upon the lady’s knee to eat
his nuts. Of course he could sit up as well as anybody now, and hold
the nut in his funny little hands. Some people would say _paws_; but if
a squirrel has not hands, then nobody has. Just watch one take a nut
and turn it over and over with those hands, and finally hold it firmly
between those ridiculous little nubbins that are his thumbs, while he
gnaws it. And then watch him comb his tail with his fingers, and wash
his face with his hands, and catch your watch-chain when you dangle it
in front of him. Only, you see, he always uses both hands at once. At
least Little Mitchell did, for the lady never saw him take anything
in one hand alone. And he did not pick up things with his hands,—he
picked up his nuts with his mouth, and then took them in his hands.
Didn’t he crack any of his nuts himself? Oh yes, indeed, he cracked
the almonds and beech-nuts, and such soft-shelled ones, as cleverly as
you could have done it yourself. But when it came to hickory nuts and
filberts, he wouldn’t even try to crack them; he would go and poke them
into his lady’s hand for her to crack, or else he would hide them away.
He knew perfectly well, when she got out the little hammer, that she
was going to crack his nuts,—and a hard time she had not to crack his
nose too, for he insisted upon poking it under the hammer, to see how
the nuts were getting on, I suppose.
Peanuts? Oh, he wouldn’t touch a peanut,—not if he were ever so
hungry. He wouldn’t open one, and he wouldn’t eat it if the lady
opened it for him. No,—he wouldn’t look at peanuts. But he would eat
beech-nuts until you wondered where in the world he put them all. And
pecan nuts he liked almost as well, only of course the lady had to
crack them for him.
He knew a good nut from a bad one, too, before opening it. You could be
very sure that if he threw down a beech-nut or an almond without trying
to open it, there was nothing fit to eat inside. How he knew, I cannot
tell; but the rascal did know. I suppose it was some of that squirrel
wisdom that kept coming to him as he grew older.
He used to drink from a tumbler in those days; but he would not take
it between his lips, as he used to take the spoon. He would stand up,
holding on to the edge with his hands, and then drink, making a great
noise while doing it. It was just the way children sometimes drink when
they are naughty; but he was not naughty,—he didn’t know any better,
and it was all so cunning his lady did not try to teach him.
She made up her mind, though, that she would teach him a great many
things, he was so gentle and affectionate and intelligent.
But he _was_ something of a nuisance about wasting her time. For one
thing, she had to brush his coat every morning; and he would sit quite
still to have his head and ears brushed. He would turn his head first
one side, then the other, so that his ears could be brushed all around
and back of them, inside and out. But as soon as his ears were washed,
he thought that was enough, and that it was time for some fun; so he
would catch hold of the brush and bite it, and kick at it with his
hind feet like a kitten playing, and when the lady scolded him he would
sit still for about a second, then he would snatch at the brush again,
or maybe suddenly fly off from her knee and across the room. But she
always brought him back, and made him stay until his fur was nicely
brushed from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail.
The tail was the hardest to fix. How he would act when she got to his
tail! He _knew_ it was time for some fun then, and he would jerk the
brush out of his lady’s hand, and run away with it in his mouth, and
when she caught him and took it away he would catch hold of his tail
and begin to comb it very fast himself with his hands and his front
teeth.
[Illustration: LITTLE MITCHELL SITS IN HIS CHAIR
“He sat in the doll’s chair before the little table, and ate his
supper.” (Page 192)]
Did he ever get over crying when his mouth was wiped? Oh no, after
every drink of water he screamed in the same naughty way if the lady
wiped his mouth. He much preferred springing upon her and wiping it
very hard on the front of her dress. I suppose he thought laces and
ribbons were made for squirrels to wipe their faces on!
But he did love his lady. He did not want to be away from her a moment.
Sometimes, when he ran across the front of her waist to get to her
shoulder, she would drop a little kiss on his furry coat as he passed.
Then what would he do? Run on without noticing it? Oh no; he would
stop for just the fraction of a second, and give one soft touch of his
little velvety tongue to her cheek, and then race on again.
Sometimes he would lick her hands like a little dog; and if she was
busy, he couldn’t _possibly_ let her alone. If she was writing, he
would take hold of the pen and shake it, and bite at her fingers, and
turn somersaults in her lap, and caper so she couldn’t do a thing but
stop and play with him, as though he were a little monkey.
He liked to have her tousle him about, as you do a kitten, upside down,
and tickling his little white neck and chest with her fingers; and he
would make believe bite, and really scratch just like a kitten. You
see, his little claws were as sharp as any cat’s claws; and though
he did not mean to hurt her at all, he scratched her hands all over
until they were a sight to see. Then she had to stop playing that way,
and instead she took a long lead-pencil, and he would bite at that
and catch it in all four of his feet, and hang from it like a sloth,
back down, and she would swing him back and forth, as though he were
a hammock suspended from the ends of the pencil. He thought that was
great fun, and so did the lady.
As to sewing, she couldn’t do a bit of it if he was out of his cage,
for he insisted upon helping, and caught hold of the thread and tangled
it all up. It was such fun to see the lady’s hands go back and forth,
that he would jump at them, and she was afraid that she would stick the
needle into his nose or his eye. With the scissors it was even worse;
she couldn’t so much as snip a thread without running the risk of
clipping something off him,—one of his feet, or his nose, or the end
of his tail. He seemed to be all over everything at once.