one
saw him, bury those trifles under the hearthrug, and return for more.
The habit is not so common in cats, but I have known more than one puss
do the same thing. One little tabby, found in the snow on my doorstep,
would play with a piece of meat as if it were a mouse, make believe to
kill it, and then hide it away under the edge of the carpet, with a
great show of sniffing and scraping, as if to make sure that no other
cat could scent it out. She had once been nearly starved, and so had
learnt prudence.

A few small animals, the squirrel, field mouse, and dormouse, are
store-keepers by nature. The larder is placed at a convenient distance
from the nest in which these little animals sleep, and if forgotten, or
accidentally left unused, the nuts, seeds, &c., often taken root and
grow. Many a spreading chestnut, sturdy oak, and shady beech, to say
nothing of hazel copse, owes life to these thrifty little folk, and thus
the tiny woodlanders give back to nature a thousandfold more than they
take. More than a bushel of raw potatoes was once found laid up by a
water-rat in his winter cupboard, underground.

It is not every squirrel, however, that lays up a winter store. It seems
that if that prudent little animal sees his way to a fair supply of
food, or lives where human beings will provide victuals, he takes no
such trouble. He is, at any rate, a good judge of nuts. A gardener who
liked ripe filberts, and was looking forward to a fine crop in his
plantation, found out that a squirrel in the neighbourhood liked them
too, and knew how to 'sample' them better than himself. One day the
master of the filbert-trees came to his wife with a happy air. 'I have
done the squirrel this time, at all events,' said he; 'for I found a
heap of filberts he had put together, all ready to carry off, little by
little, and now when he returns he will find them gone.' Not a bit of
it! Every nut was a bad one, which the knowing little rascal had tossed
away in disgust, while he picked out all the good ones to eat or take
home!

EDITH CARRINGTON.

A SHORT CONVERSATION.

The celebrated physician, Dr. Abernethy, was famous for the brevity and
bluntness of his answers; he never used a word more than was necessary.
One day a lady who knew his peculiarity came to him and held out her
finger without a word.

'Cut?' asked the doctor.

'Bite,' answered the patient.

'Dog?'

'Parrot.'

'Go home and poultice,' said Abernethy.

The