ou may try a curious trick on the
chipmunk. It is not easy to get him into a tree; he prefers a log or an
old wall when frightened; and he is seldom more than two or three jumps
from his den. But watch him as he goes from his garner to the grove
where the acorns are, or to the field where his winter corn is ripening.
Put yourself near his path (he always follows the same one to and fro)
where there is no refuge close at hand. Then, as he comes along, rush at
him suddenly and he will take to the nearest tree in his alarm. When
he recovers from his fright--which is soon over; for he is the most
trustful of squirrels and looks down at you with interest, never
questioning your motives--take a stick and begin to tap the tree softly.
The more slow and rhythmical your tattoo the sooner he is charmed.
Presently he comes down closer and closer, his eyes filled with strange
wonder. More than once I have had a chipmunk come to my hand and rest
upon it, looking everywhere for the queer sound that brought him
down, forgetting fright and cornfield and coming winter in his bright
curiosity.

Meeko is a bird of another color. He never trusts you nor anybody else
fully, and his curiosity is generally of the vulgar, selfish kind. When
the autumn woods are busy places, and wings flutter and little feet go
pattering everywhere after winter supplies, he also begins garnering,
remembering the hungry days of last winter. But he is always more
curious to see what others are doing than to fill his own bins. He
seldom trusts to one storehouse--he is too suspicious for that--but
hides his things in twenty different places; some shagbarks in the old
wall, a handful of acorns in a hollow tree, an ear of corn under the
eaves of the old barn, a pint of chestnuts scattered about in the trees,
some in crevices in the bark, some in a pine crotch covered carefully
with needles, and one or two stuck firmly into the splinters of every
broken branch that is not too conspicuous. But he never gathers much
at a time. The moment he sees anybody else gathering he forgets his own
work and goes spying to see where others are hiding their store. The
little chipmunk, who knows his thieving and his devices, always makes
one turn, at least, in the tunnel to his den too small for Meeko to
follow.

He sees a blue jay flitting through the woods, and knows by his unusual
silence that he is hiding things. Meeko follows after him, stopping all
his jabber and stealing from