LIVING IN A TREE.
The squirrel now tucked his little friend under his chin, as if she were
a nut, and off they went together, fast as any bird could fly.
Minnie soon found there was no use in urging squirrel to go in a
straight line, and pick out the smoothest paths: it was not his way. He
made her dizzy, often, by running along the under side of the boughs, or
twirling round them in his frisky way; and, in passing from tree to
tree, whichever branches were farthest apart, they were the ones he
chose for a leap.
If he heard with his quick ears any sound that frightened him, down
squirrel darted into some hollow trunk, that was full of ants and rotten
wood, and wiry snails; but Minnie found he was growing very tired, and
was all in a perspiration with carrying such a burden; so she did not
complain.
Yet, when, in passing, her curly hair caught on the rough bark, and had
many a pull, and her cheeks became bruised with brushing against the
leaves, and she shook black ants and beetles out of her dress, Minnie
more than once wished herself home again.
At last, with a chuckle of delight, squirrel darted up the trunk of a
beautiful elm, and seated Minnie where the great boughs parted into
something like an arm-chair; while he went to find his mate.
This, then, was her new home! Tired and hungry as she was, the little
girl looked about her with pleasure--it was such a lovely place. On one
side were sunny fields; on the other, stretched the silent, shady wood,
with its beds of moss, and curtains of vine, and clumps of wild-flowers.
Closer about her, fanning her warm cheeks, were the green leaves of the
elm--more thousands of them than she could think of counting, and all so
fresh, and creased, and pointed so prettily. "Many a game of
hide-and-seek I'll have here!" she thought.
But now squirrel returned with his wife, who shook hands with her little
guest very politely, and begged her to feel quite at home. Madam
Squirrel was not so handsome as her husband, but was such a kind,
motherly person, that you would not notice her looks.
She had brought some dry moss from her nest, and with this made a soft
bed for Minnie to rest upon while she prepared dinner. The good soul
even wove the twigs together into a leafy bower above her head, and
called one of her young ones to stand near and keep the flies away, so
that Minnie might have a nap.
The young squirrel, however, was less thoughtful than his mamma. He had
so many questions to ask, and so much news to tell, that sleep was out
of the question. And Minnie found that the wonderful herb had not only
made her grow small as squirrels, but at the same time had taught her to
understand their language.
And not this alone; by listening carefully, at first, she could soon
make out what all the creatures around her were saying--the bees, and
birds; and grasshoppers, and wasps, and mice.
Even the leaves she saw talked to each other all day long; the wind had
only to come, and make them a call, and start a subject or two--then
there was whispering enough! And the grass underneath whispered back,
and perfumed wild-flowers talked with the grass, and the river talked to
the flowers, or, when they would not listen, talked to its own still
pebbles.
The sun, if he did not speak, smiled such a broad, warm smile, that any
one could guess it meant, "I know you, and love you, friends!" And at
night the silent moonshine stole into the wood, and kissed the leaves
till they smiled with happiness, and kissed the flowers till the air was
full of perfumes they breathed back to her, and kissed the brook till
all its little wavelets sparkled and laughed together for joy.
Meantime the stars were winking at each other, to think they had caught
the cold moon making love!