o, and I could easily
understand how he might greatly endear himself to his little patron. Nor
was I at all surprised when I recently heard of the death of this
favorite, that my young friend cried a great deal; and I am sure I
shared in some measure his grief. Poor Dick! I immediately wrote to
Willy, to solicit a short biography of his favorite, for my stories
about animals. The request was kindly responded to by Willy's aunt, from
whom I received the following sketch:

"When Dick first became a member of the family, he was shy, resentful,
and very capricious; but by degrees all these faults gave place to a
sort of playful drollery, that called out many a laugh. His cage was a
fine, large, commodious place, well lined with tiers, and furnished with
every convenience that he could have desired in a habitation, not
excepting a big wheel, which is by general consent esteemed a great
luxury for a squirrel. But he often liked a change, and when the door
was left loose, he would soon find his way out. Then he had many
hair-breadth escapes--sometimes from dogs, who looked upon him as lawful
prey; sometimes from frolicsome and thoughtless boys, who forgot how
much a squirrel suffers who is worried almost to death. Sometimes he has
been nearly abducted by strangers, who saw with surprise so small an
individual at large, and quite unconscious of the perils of a public
street in a watering-place. On one of these occasions, when he was
playing with his little master, and skipping from bough to bough on the
large trees that sheltered his home, he bounded from a branch to the
roof of a three-storied house adjoining, and running across, jumped from
one of the angles to the court below, landed on all fours, stopped a
second or two to decide if he were really alive or not, then quietly
trudged home to his cage. If he wanted a change, Dick had odd ways of
showing himself dissatisfied with his condition. In the summer, when his
house was too much exposed to the rays of the sun, he would give a queer
little cry, which, if no one heeded, he would lie down flat, all
extended, and gasp, as if each moment was his last; and no coaxing could
bring him to himself, until he was removed, cage and all; then
immediately he would jump up, frisk about, sit on his haunches, and
laugh out of his eye as merrily as if he had said, 'I know a thing or
two--don't I, though?' These manoeuvres were a clear sham; he could
fall into one in a twinkling, at any ti