n intently
into the garner, evidently trying to compute the number he had brought
and the number that were there. Then a terrible scolding began, a
scolding that was broken short off when a distant screaming of jays came
floating through the woods. Meeko covered his store hurriedly, ran along
a limb and leaped to the next tree, where he hid in a knot hole, just
his eyes visible, watching his garner keenly out of the darkness.

Meeko, has no patience. Three or four times he showed himself nervously.
Fortunately for me, the jay had found some excitement to keep his
rattle-brain busy for a moment. A flash of blue, and he came stealing
back, just as Meeko had settled himself for more watching. After much
pecking and listening the jay flew down to the storehouse, and Meeko,
unable to contain himself a moment longer at sight of the thief, jumped
out of his hiding and came rushing along the limb, hurling threats and
vituperation ahead of him. The jay fluttered off, screaming derision.
Meeko followed, hurling more abuse, but soon gave up the chase and
came back to his chestnuts. It was curious to watch him there, sitting
motionless and intent, his nose close down to his treasure, trying to
compute his loss. Then he stuffed his cheeks full and began carrying his
hoard off to another hiding place.

The autumn woods are full of such little comedies. Jays, crows, and
squirrels are all hiding away winter's supplies, and no matter how great
the abundance, not one of them can resist the temptation to steal or to
break into another's garner.

Meeko is a poor provider; he would much rather live on buds and bark
and apple seeds and fir cones, and what he can steal from others in the
winter, than bother himself with laying up supplies of his own. When the
spring comes he goes a-hunting, and is for a season the most villainous
of nest-robbers. Every bird in the woods then hates him, takes a jab at
him, and cries thief, thief! wherever he goes.

On a trout brook once I had a curious sense of comradeship with Meeko.
It was in the early spring, when all the wild things make holiday, and
man goes a-fishing. Near the brook a red squirrel had tapped a maple
tree with his teeth and was tasting the sweet sap as it came up
scantily. Seeing him and remembering my own boyhood, I cut a little
hollow into the bark of a black birch tree and, when it brimmed full,
drank the sap with immense satisfaction. Meeko stopped his own drinking
to watch, then