to do that, it made him so unhappy. He would shake the cage door, and
bite at it, and do everything he could think of to coax her to let him
out.
Of course he wasn’t bothering her every minute, though when he was not
playing with her she had to keep sharp watch of him, for she never knew
what he might do next, excepting when he was taking a sun-bath on the
platform. For when the sun flooded the big windows, nice and warm, he
would flatten himself out on the floor, and stretch first one leg, then
another, and finally he would open his mouth and yawn, and show his
four front teeth, two above and two below, that looked very long and
sharp.
For that is the way the squirrel-folk have their teeth,—two long,
sharp ones in the front of the upper jaw, and two opposite them in the
front of the lower jaw. These teeth are like little chisels, and it
is with them they gnaw wood so easily. Not that they have only four
teeth,—they have others, away back in the mouth, that look something
like our back teeth, and are used for the same purpose—to chew the
food.
Well, when Little Mitchell went to take a sun-bath, the lady was glad,
you may be sure; for then she knew he would be out of mischief for a
little while. But it did not last long. He was soon up and off to see
what he could do next.
He had soon collected a number of things to play with. If the lady
missed any little thing, she was always sure who had run away with it.
His pet plaything at this time was a little white envelope that had had
a visiting-card in it. He fished the envelope out of the scrap-basket
and carried it about for a long time, and then hid it away under the
corner of a sofa pillow. He was always hiding his things, and the lady
was always finding them in the queerest places. He used to put nuts in
her slippers, and one day he even tried to drop nuts down her back. She
never knew what she would find in the sleeves of her dresses when she
took them out of the closet.
At last she collected all his playthings that she could find,—the
little envelope, a big button, a hard cracker, a piece of cooky, a
small pine-cone, three acorns, a worsted ball, and a butternut,—and
put them in a little basket on the bureau. Very soon, you may be
sure, Little Mitchell found them. The first thing his lady knew, he
was sitting on the very corner of the bureau, with his cracker in his
hands, nibbling it. Then he took a taste of the cooky; next he hauled
out the little envelope, and had a joyous time hauling everything out
of the basket.
What do you think he did next?
To the lady’s great astonishment, he put them all back again!
He took the greatest fancy to the little basket; and ever after, when
he took his things out of it, he put at least part of them back again.
He seemed to think they were safely hidden there.
He had such a hard time hiding things! All his extra nuts he wished to
bury; for that is the way with the squirrel-folk, you know, and though
Little Mitchell had never seen a squirrel bury anything, he could not
get over wanting to do it. His favorite place, next to the folds of
the lady’s dress, was the deer-skin that lay on the platform. It was a
beautiful skin from his own mountains, where the deer still run wild.
But the hair on a deer is short and stiff; so there was not much chance
to hide anything in it. Yet how Little Mitchell did try! He would hold
in his mouth the nut to be buried, while he dug very fast indeed with
his hands,—that is, he went through the motions of digging, for of
course he couldn’t dig a hole in the deer-skin.
[Illustration: LITTLE MITCHELL LISTENS TO THE WHISTLE
“He would climb up on the screen, and there he would stay, as still as
a mouse.” (Page 197)]
When he had dug long enough, he would poke the nut down under the hair
on the skin, and then pat it all down nicely on top. Only when he got
through there was the nut in plain sight! Poor little chap! He would
try again and again, and at last give the nut a good patting, and
scamper off. He often succeeded in getting the nuts out of sight under
the hair; and a funny skin it was to walk over then, all hubbly with
hard nuts!
Another trick was to hide the nuts all over his lady as she sat
reading, and when she got up a perfect shower of nuts would rattle out
upon the floor.
You should have seen the little fellow play with a ball tied to a
string!—across the room and back again, around and around he would
chase it, just like a kitten. But he was ever so much quicker and
funnier than a kitten, and prettier, too, with that bushy tail of his
flirting and curving about.
You see how it was,—he had nobody but his lady to play with, and he
just _had_ to play; so he learned all sorts of funny little tricks that
squirrels in the woods, who have each other to chase and who have to
put away their winter stores, have no time for.
Do you know how he learned to sit in the doll’s chair?
The lady got a little wooden chair and table to give to a little girl;
but before she gave them away she thought she would see if she couldn’t
teach Little Mitchell to sit in the chair. So she let him get quite
hungry one day; then she put him in the chair with one hand while she
gave him a nice cracked nut with the other.
He was so eager to eat his nut that he never moved! She drew the table
up in front of him, with some nuts and a little red apple lying on it,
and Little Mitchell sat there like a well-behaved child and ate his
supper. He soon got used to it, and if he felt like it he would sit
still in the tiny rocking-chair and eat his nuts; but sometimes he
would jump up and tip over the chair, table, and everything else.
He liked apples. He liked to have a whole one, so he could roll it
around and play with it. You should have seen him try to hold it in
his hands like a nut! When he found he couldn’t, he would crouch down
close to it and gnaw a hole in the skin. But don’t imagine he would
swallow the skin! He wouldn’t, not a bit! He flung it away, as he did
the nut-shells, and ate the soft pulp inside.
He did not often get a whole apple, because the lady did not like to
have the bits of skin thrown about the floor. You see, he would go to
work and peel half the apple before he took a bite. He seemed to do
this for fun; but he never picked up the little pieces of skin he flung
about.
But much as he liked apples, he liked grapes better; and these he could
hold in his hands. He looked very pretty, sitting up with his bushy
tail showing above his head and a big yellow California grape in his
hands.
X
LITTLE MITCHELL MAKES A MISTAKE
Little Mitchell did not allow anybody to touch him except his lady; and
he would not eat for any one else. He would not even make friends with
the other people in the house,—but that may be because he did not see
enough of them.
One day the lady heard no sound from him for a long time, and she
began to look around for him; but Little Mitchell was gone! She looked
all about the room,—no Little Mitchell. In his cage,—no Little
Mitchell. In the closet, where the dresses hung,—no Mitchell. She
shook the dresses to see if he had not gone to hide in them and fallen
asleep,—no Little Mitchell. Then she called him,—not a sound.
Finally she went out into the hall and looked for him, for the door was
open,—but still no Little Mitchell.
Then she went into the room of her next neighbor, who was a newspaper
editor and not at home, but whose door was open; and there, in the
middle of the floor, looking about him to see what to go at first, sat
Little Mitchell!
The rascal! As soon as the lady came he made a dive for the hall and
scampered home; for she had told him he must not go near the open door,
and had scolded him so often for doing it that he knew perfectly well
he ought not to do it.
Yes, indeed,—he knew when he was scolded, and scolding was usually
enough; though once or twice the lady had spatted him,—not hard, you
know, not hard at all; but it almost broke his heart, he was such a
sensitive little thing.
The first time it happened he had done something _very_ naughty, and
he knew it was naughty too. The lady caught him up and cuffed him ever
so little; but she was dreadfully frightened when the little fellow
stiffened out as though he were dead, and lay perfectly still for ever
so long. But he never did the naughty thing again.
The only other time he got slapped was when his lady’s friend put
out her hand to touch him. He was sitting on his lady’s knee, and he
deliberately reached out and bit the visitor’s finger. Yes, he really
bit it so that a drop of blood came.
That _was_ naughty, and he knew it; and his lady slapped him a little,
and said, “_No, no, Mitchell!_” very crossly, and he jumped away, his
tail all fluffy, and ran as fast as he could and tucked his head up
her sleeve as far as he could get it.
Perhaps the reason why he went to the editor’s room was because that
was where the singing came from, and he did enjoy hearing anybody sing!
When the editor was at home, he used to sing a great deal; and Little
Mitchell would climb up on the screen which stood in front of the open
door, and lean his head away down, and cock his ear to listen, and
there he would stay as still as a mouse as long as the editor sang or
whistled.
One day he really went visiting. His lady took him to a friend’s house
one night just as they were finishing dinner, and she was invited to
have some of the ice-cream.
She had Little Mitchell buttoned up under her jacket; but as soon as
the ice-cream came along he put in an appearance and wanted his share,
which he ate very nicely out of a spoon, to the amusement of all who
saw him.
After dinner, when they were all together in the sitting-room, one of
the young men—who was a Harvard student, and knew more about many
other things than he did about squirrels—said Little Mitchell did not
really know the lady, but would just as soon go to anybody else if he
were left alone.
So all the family—eight or nine, counting the visitors—formed a
circle, and the lady set Little Mitchell down in the middle, and then
quickly stepped back behind him to a new place in the circle.
Little Mitchell’s bushy tail jerked nervously for a minute, and his
bright eyes looked wildly from one strange face to another; then he
gave a leap and landed at his lady’s feet, and in another second was up
on her shoulder.
After that, no one denied that he knew his lady, and liked her best of
all.
He had to take an airing once in a while, and the way he went was to
ride in his own private carriage,—which was nothing less than the
inside of his lady’s jacket. She would button it all but the two top
buttons, and tuck him in, and away they would go for a walk or a romp
together.
Little Mitchell thought this great fun, and usually gave no trouble.
Sometimes they walked along the street, when Little Mitchell would pop
his head out and look about, but if anybody came along he would pop it
back again.
Sometimes they went to the Public Garden; and here he had many
adventures. One day his lady thought she would let him climb a tree. So
she chose a little one, put him on one of the lower limbs, and then
stepped back. Little Mitchell looked about, but did not climb; he took
two or three steps, then I suppose he decided it was an awful thing to
be left there alone on a wild little tree in a wild park that stood
in a wild world that he knew nothing about; so he gave one tremendous
jump and landed on his lady’s shoulder, and scurried down into his safe
hiding-place under her jacket, and peeped out at the terrible tree and
the strange world he was so afraid of.
Then she put him on the grass, and went on; but Little Mitchell went on
too, and in less time than it takes to tell he had caught her and come
flying up again to his safe place in her jacket.
Sometimes he would come out and sit in her hand; but it seemed a very
dangerous world to a squirrel who had never been out of doors,—and so
it was, for did not a little girl come up to look at him one day and
suddenly grab him in both hands? But how quick she let go! He squealed
his loudest, and squirmed like an eel, and no doubt would have bitten
her, only she was so frightened that she dropped him on the grass. The
lady quickly stooped down with her hand out, and he sprang upon it and
ran up her arm and hid in her jacket. No little girls for him!
He liked to have the lady go to a lonely part of the Public Garden, and
sit on a bench, and let him sit beside her with a nice pecan nut that
had been cracked a little so that he could open it by working at it
awhile.
You see, he did not crack his own nuts, because he did not know how.
It must be that mother squirrels start the nuts for their young ones;
but Little Mitchell’s lady did not know that, only she saw nuts that
the squirrels had gnawed, and there were two little holes in the sides
opposite each other. But Little Mitchell did not gnaw the sides of the
nut,—he always tried to gnaw the end; and you know it would take him
forever to get at the meat that way. So finally the lady started his
nuts with a penknife in the right place, and Little Mitchell would try
very hard to finish opening them; but he liked much better to have his
nuts cracked with a hammer, so that he could peel off pieces of the
shell.
No doubt he would soon have learned to open his nuts himself, and do
it very well, only something happened that made this impossible. It is
strange he did not know how, he knew so many other things the squirrel
folk know, but that they had never taught him. You remember he knew
how to clean himself and wash his face in the funny squirrel way. And
he knew how to talk squirrel talk. He had several sounds that meant
different things.
The funniest talking he ever did was when he saw the dog in the
backyard. It was away down below him, and not in his yard either, but
in another yard over the fence. It is strange he should have noticed
the dog so far off; but he had good eyes, had Little Mitchell,—and
the way he screamed and scolded when he saw the dog! You never heard
anything like it,—unless you have been scolded by a gray squirrel out
in the woods sometime!
He was sitting looking out of the big window, when the little dog ran
across the yard. Up went Little Mitchell’s hands across his breast,
in the most comical manner, as though he were pressing them over his
fast-beating heart. Then he stretched his neck, and opened his mouth
wide, and screamed at the dog. The way he screamed when his mouth
was wiped was nothing to this. How he did go on!—just as the gray
squirrels in the woods do when they are very much excited; and he had
never heard a squirrel do it in all his life.
There were gray squirrels on Boston Common, where Little Mitchell
sometimes went to walk with the lady; but he did not take the slightest
interest in them.
There are more squirrels on the Common sometimes than others. The
winter Little Mitchell was in Boston there were several of them living
on the Common, and they had nests in some of the trees. Yes, they built
nests that looked like big clumsy bird’s-nests, and they went into
them to sleep and to keep warm.
One cold winter day, when Little Mitchell’s lady was crossing the
Common early in the morning, and Little Mitchell was not with her,
a big gray squirrel ran up to her and asked for a nut. Of course he
could not ask in people’s talk, but he asked very plainly in squirrel
talk,—in their sign language. He made no sound, but signed for nuts
in the prettiest way, running close up to her, flatting out a little
toward the ground, and looking up into her face as Little Mitchell
looked when he was coaxing for something. The lady had no nuts with
her; but she brought some when she came that way again. Then she found
somebody else had given him nuts, and he was sitting on the ground
eating them. Of course this squirrel did not pass the winter in a nest
in the branches of a tree. Oh, no, he had a nice warm hiding-place
inside a big tree that had a hole in the crotch so that he could get in.
Once there were a great many squirrels on the Common, but one day
there were none. They had all gone off. What had become of them?
everybody was asking. The policeman knew, for he saw them go. It was
very early in the morning, and they went all together, single file,
across Cambridge bridge. They were on the bridge railing, one old
fellow leading the way. Perhaps there were getting to be too many of
them to be comfortable on the Common. Perhaps they were tired of city
life. Anyway, the policeman saw them go, and that was the end of the
squirrels on the Common for some time. At least, so I was told.
A good many city parks have gray squirrels in them, but where else are
they so tame as in the park at Richmond, Virginia? Little Mitchell’s
lady was there one day, before she had found Little Mitchell, and the
squirrels were so tame they came right up and ate out of her hand; and
when she stooped down to speak to one, another little fellow raced
right up her back,—which rather startled her, because she was not used
to squirrels then.
Well, Little Mitchell grew fast, and promised to become a very large
and handsome squirrel, when he made a dreadful mistake one day and
licked the heads of the matches. He got into the match-box somehow,—he
was always opening boxes to see what was in them,—and he liked the
taste of the matches, never suspecting what sad results would follow.
The lady looked about at last to see what he was up to,—for if he
was quiet more than a minute at a time it meant mischief. How she
jumped when she saw what he was doing! But it was too late, and little
Mitchell tumbled over then and there, and the lady thought he was dead;
but he was not.
He appeared to get over it and be perfectly well again; and the
lady—who did not know as much about phosphorus poisoning then as
she was soon to learn—thought nothing was to come of it. You see,
phosphorus is the stuff on the ends of matches that makes them light;
and it is poison,—and a mean, horrible poison too.
Little Mitchell played about as usual for a few days, rolling like a
ball on the platform, racing over the screen, and tormenting the lady
when she wanted to work. Then one morning he was frightfully sick and
he stayed sick all day. He sat hunched up on the couch, making queer,
mournful little noises, and eating nothing.
He could not even bear the gentle touch of the lady’s hand, and
screamed if she came near him, he was so afraid she would touch him. So
she left him to himself, and went to the doctor and asked about it, and
the doctor told her what to do. There was not very much she could do
then, but keep him warm and wait.
For two or three days Little Mitchell was a very sick squirrel; but
then he began to get better again, and soon was running about almost
as well as ever,—but not quite. He seemed weak, and could not use his
hind legs as well as usual. But he was still very cunning and lively,
and as affectionate as ever.
While he was sick, the lady let him sleep under the corner of her
travelling rug instead of in his cage; and when he got better he still
wanted to sleep in the rug. He would creep in to take a nap in the
daytime, and at night he teased so to stay that the lady yielded at
last, and fixed him a bed on the floor, at the head of her own couch.
She doubled a towel in between two folds of the rug, for sheets, as it
were; but Little Mitchell did not like the towel, and would creep in on
top of it or under it. Then it was pinned down so he had to go into it;
and at last he got used to it, and always went in right, whether it was
pinned or not.
After a few days the lady woke up one night and thought she heard him
making queer noises. She got a light, and, sure enough, there he was,
as sick as ever. But he got over it again, and went on for a long time
about as usual, though his hind legs seemed weaker than before. He
could scarcely climb to the top of his screen, and never raced over it
and hung by his toes, as he had liked to do.
He had to take medicine; but he would not touch his drinking water if
the medicine was put in that, so the lady got it in the form of little
sugar pills. He was very fond of sugar, you know, though he was not
allowed to eat much candy; and he liked those little pills, and was
always ready to eat one whenever it was given him.
He liked his flaxseeds, too, at first, and would crunch them up, one at
a time, between his sharp little teeth; but he soon got tired of them,
and would not eat them unless the lady made him. The way she managed
was to pour some of the seeds in the palm of her hand, and give them
to him early in the morning. If he would not eat them, she waited, and
after a while offered them again; and not a bit of breakfast would he
get until he had eaten his flaxseeds. He soon learned that he must eat
them, and it was funny to see him try to get rid of them by pawing them
out of the lady’s hand. He would paw them all out into her lap; but she
would gather them up again, when he would stick in his nose very hard,
so as to spatter half of them out. He would munch two or three, looking
at her out of his bright eyes; then he would nose around in them again,
until he had spilled them all out into her lap. But again she would
gather them up, and so they would keep on until he had eaten what was
necessary for him.
XI
LITTLE MITCHELL GOES TO SLEEP
One day Little Mitchell’s lady said good-bye to him, and went away to
stay two or three days. He had been well now for more than a week, so
that she did not feel troubled at leaving him.
A friend promised to attend to him in her absence; but this was easier
said than done. She opened the cage, thinking he would come and sit in
her lap as he did in his lady’s.
Sit in her lap? Not a bit of it! Nor would he take any nuts from her,
nor have anything to do with her. As soon as he got out of the cage,
off he scampered, and she could not catch him. So she took a book and
sat still, hoping he would return to his cage, in which she had laid
some nuts.
Presently she heard a match snap, and looking quickly up, saw Little
Mitchell drop a lighted match and scamper off.
Some one had dropped a match on the floor, and poor Little Mitchell
had found it. This time he gnawed it and set it on fire, which made
him quickly drop it, and thus he did not get so much of the poison as
before, though he burned the whiskers all off the side of his face
again. It was the same side they were burned off before, but they had
grown out since then.
He went into his cage at last; but he ate scarcely anything, and was a
very unhappy little fellow until his lady came back to him. You may be
sure he was glad to see her! She let him out the minute she got into
the room, and he climbed up and cuddled close to her face, and then
ran around and around her,—for though it was hard for him to climb the
stiff screen, he could climb up on his lady’s dress quite easily. He
hung about her as though he could not bear to leave her for a minute,
and kept this up as long as she stayed in the room.
But the extra taste of phosphorus soon had its effect, and next day the
poor little fellow was sick again. But he recovered as before.
Then he had another misfortune. He got his tail skinned.
His lady had to be gone all one day, so she left him in his cage as she
always did when she went out. When she got back, there was poor Little
Mitchell with the cotton in his nest wrapped all tight about his tail.
He had struggled to get free until his tail was all twisted and torn.
Oh, but he was glad to see the lady! She did not even stop to take
off her things before she pulled the cotton out of the nest, and took
Little Mitchell out and carefully untwisted the poor tail, from which
the skin was off for a third of its length. You can imagine he was a
queer-looking fellow then! But the lady took good care of him, and
bathed the tail every day, and put oil on it to make the hair grow. It
was a pretty sad-looking tail, and she feared the hair never would grow
on it again; but it did.
After a while rows of short hairs began to come out all along the bare
spot; and then his tail looked funny enough. Do you remember how the
little scouring rush that grows in swampy places looks? Do you remember
the rings of stiff little bristles all down it? Well, Little Mitchell’s
tail reminded his lady of the scouring rush. The hairs came out in
rings, a ring of them at each joint; but they grew ever so fast, and in
the end that part of the tail was almost the handsomest of all!
But what a lot of trouble it made for both of them,—that tail! It had
to be bathed often,—and Little Mitchell did hate so to have it put
into the water. At first, as soon as the water touched it he would
squirm loose and run off, and the lady would catch him, and, holding
him before her face, would talk to him and tell him all about it, and
that he must be good and let her wash it. And then—will you believe
it?—Little Mitchell would be good, and let her finish washing him in
the warm soapy water.