is, without exception,
the wildest animal I ever saw,--a fiery, sputtering little bolt of life,
luxuriating in quick oxygen and the woods' best juices. One can hardly
think of such a creature being dependent, like the rest of us, on
climate and food. But, after all, it requires no long acquaintance to
learn he is human, for he works for a living. His busiest time is in the
Indian summer. Then he gathers burs and hazel-nuts like a plodding
farmer, working continuously every day for hours; saying not a word;
cutting off the ripe cones at the top of his speed, as if employed by
the job, and examining every branch in regular order, as if careful that
not one should escape him; then, descending, he stores them away beneath
logs and stumps, in anticipation of the pinching hunger days of winter.
He seems himself a kind of coniferous fruit,--both fruit and flower. The
resiny essences of the pines pervade every pore of his body, and eating
his flesh is like chewing gum.

One never tires of this bright chip of nature,--this brave little voice
crying in the wilderness,--of observing his many works and ways, and
listening to his curious language. His musical, piny gossip is as savory
to the ear as balsam to the palate; and, though he has not exactly the
gift of song, some of his notes are as sweet as those of a
linnet--almost flute-like in softness, while others prick and tingle
like thistles. He is the mocking-bird of squirrels, pouring forth mixed
chatter and song like a perennial fountain; barking like a dog,
screaming like a hawk, chirping like a blackbird or a sparrow; while in
bluff, audacious noisiness he is a very jay.

[Illustration: TRACK OF DOUGLAS SQUIRREL ONCE DOWN AND UP A PINE-TREE
WHEN SHOWING OFF TO A SPECTATOR.]

In descending the trunk of a tree with the intention of alighting on the
ground, he preserves a cautious silence, mindful, perhaps, of foxes and
wildcats; but while rocking safely at home in the pine-tops there is no
end to his capers and noise; and woe to the gray squirrel or chipmunk
that ventures to set foot on his favorite tree! No matter how slyly they
trace the furrows of the bark, they are speedily discovered, and kicked
down-stairs with comic vehemence, while a torrent of angry notes comes
rushing from his whiskered lips that sounds remarkably like swearing. He
will even attempt at times to drive away dogs and men, especially if he
has had no previous knowledge of them. Seeing a man for the firs