ard for convenience, and time appeared
to be no object whatever. Some of the nuts he took over to a big elm
fifty paces distant, and jammed them one by one, solidly and
conscientiously, into the crevices of the bark. Others he carried in
the opposite direction, to the edge of the open where the road ran by.
These he hid under a stone, where the passing wayfarer might step over
them, indeed, but would never think of looking for them. While he was
thus occupied, an old countryman slouched by, his heavy boots making a
noise on the frozen ruts, his nose red with the harsh, unmitigated
cold. The squirrel, mounted on a fence stake, greeted him with a flood
of whistling and shrieking abuse; and he, not versed in the squirrel
tongue, muttered to himself half enviously: "Queer how them squur'ls
can keep so cheerful in this weather." The tireless little animal
followed him along the fence rails for perhaps a hundred yards, seeing
him off the premises and advising him not to return, then went back in
high feather to his task. When all the nuts were once more safely
hidden but two or three, these latter he carried to the top of a stump
close beside the hole in the maple, and proceeded to make a meal. The
stump commanded a view on all sides; and as he sat up with a nut
between his little, hand-like, clever fore-paws, his shining eyes kept
watch on every path by which an enemy might approach.

Having finished the nuts, and scratched his ears, and jumped twice
around on the stump as if he were full of erratically acting springs,
he uttered his satisfaction in a long, vibrant chir-r-r-r, and
started to re-enter his hole in the maple-roots. Just at the door,
however, he changed his mind. For no apparent reason he whisked about,
scurried across the ground to the big elm, ran straight up the tall
trunk, and disappeared within what looked like a mass of sticks
perched among the topmost branches.

The mass of sticks was a deserted crow's nest, which the squirrel, not
content with one dwelling, had made over to suit his own personal
needs. He had greatly improved upon the architecture of the crows,
giving the nest a tight roof of twigs and moss, and lining the snug
interior with fine dry grass and soft fibres of cedar-bark. In this
secure and softly swaying refuge, far above the reach of prowling
foxes, he curled himself up for a nap after his toil.

He slept well, but not long; for the red squirrel has always something
on his mind to see