ll which surrounded the orchard, afforded shelter to a
great number of striped squirrels, whose nimble motions it was the
delight of Frank and Fanny to watch, as they scampered over the wall,
or ran along on its top, or sought a safer retreat in the thick
branches of the apple trees. This last retreat, however, was not often
sought, as the striped squirrel is not fond of trees. His nest is in
a hole under a stump, or stone wall; he seeks his living on the
ground, and is the most playful, elegant little animal I ever saw. He
is called in different parts of the country, Ground Squirrel, Chipping
Squirrel, and Chipmuck, the last being probably his Indian name. Frank
and Fanny loved the striped squirrel; but never threw stones at him,
or sought to make him a prisoner.

[Illustration: THE STRIPED SQUIRREL.]

The foot of the orchard was bounded by a clear, wide brook, shaded by
willows, and the fish plashed about in troops in the cool shade.

Here upon the margin of the water, seated upon a little stump,
watching for his finny prey, the children used often to peep at the
Belted King Fisher, in his bluish coat, white collar, and prettily
marked wings. This bird's delight is to dwell on the borders of
running rivulets, or the bold cataracts of mountain streams, which
abound with small fish and insects, his accustomed fare. When the fish
do not approach his station, he flies along, just over the water, and
occasionally hovers with rapidly moving wings over the spot where he
sees a trout or minnow. In the next instant, descending with a quick
spiral sweep, he seizes a fish, with which he rises to his post and
swallows it in an instant. All these proceedings were watched
frequently by the children, with intense delight, as they stood
concealed among the bushes, not daring to move for fear of disturbing
the bird.

[Illustration: THE KING FISHER.]

On the other side of the brook was a cranberry marsh, with a raised
road passing through to the pine forest, still beyond, where the
children gathered the ground pine, and hunted for the bright scarlet
berries of the winter-green. When the children resorted to the
cranberry marsh to obtain a supply of berries for their mother, they
often saw the beautiful meadow lark, crouching among the reeds, or
flying slowly and steadily away, as they approached her, uttering her
lisping, melancholy note, which sounded like, "_et-se-de-ah_," and
sometimes, "_tai-sedilio_." This bird was much admi