k.

"Have you any nuts?" said the dormouse. "I feel most horribly hungry, and
this light is very trying to my eyes. It will have to be darker before I
can hunt for any myself."

"You'll be asleep two hours before it's dark," said the squirrel, "and I
haven't any nuts, or rather, I haven't the least idea where I put them.
Didn't you make a store?"

"Only a small one--seeds, I think," said the dormouse. "I was very drowsy
when I made it, and I daren't hope that it is in good order."

"Where is it?" said the squirrel.

"The second hazel on the left," said the dormouse; "the third hollow from
the top."

The second hazel on the left was twenty yards away. Before the dormouse
had finished speaking the squirrel had started, and the boughs by which
she reached it were still quivering as she returned.

"There's your store."

The dormouse looked up, and gave a dolorous squeal of disappointment. A
straggling nosegay was being thrust through the roof, and he realized at
once that the seeds had sprouted.

"Why didn't you nibble the ends off?" said the squirrel. "You can't expect
seeds to be seeds for ever. Oh, it's your first hibernation, is it? Well,
you'll know better next time. Here's a nut for you." She had held it
concealed in her palm, and produced it like a conjuror.

"She's not such a bad sort, after all," thought the dormouse, as he
proceeded to examine the nut.

It was a hard nut, and would take some getting through. He sat back on his
haunches, grasped it in his eight little fingers, gave it a twirl or two,
and commenced gnawing three strokes a second. He gnawed for two minutes
without a break.

It was harder than any other nut he remembered. He had never been more
than a minute getting through one; sometimes they had obligingly split in
half before he had fairly started. He tried another part, and worked even
more vigorously than before.

Assuredly it was the very hardest nut in all the world. Twenty minutes'
hard work produced a small round hole, ten minutes more enlarged it so
that he could thrust his lips inside. Then he sucked vigorously to secure
the kernel, and secured instead a mouthful of black dust.

Of course the squirrel had known it all along. It did not need the guffaw
he heard above to tell him that. This time he did not even protest. His
spirit was broken. He was cold and tired and hungry. He merely huddled in
a corner, still grasping the nut, and breathing in queer short gasps.

"Never