OUR PET SQUIRREL.
One summer morning, several years ago, we found a gray squirrel sitting on the arbor by the door, and though a stranger to our house, she was not at all disturbed by our presence, but seemed quite at home. All day she played on the trees and fences, coming nearer and nearer, as if to show us that she was not at all afraid, but quite used to society. In a few days my little boy and she had become good friends. She would sit on his knee and eat nuts and biscuit, but all the while watching him with her bright eyes ready to spring away, for notwithstanding her pretty gentle ways she never permitted any one to touch her. She certainly feared being captured; and I have no doubt she had been a pet, and kept in a cage, and had run away to taste the sweets of liberty. So we never interfered with her, and after a while she went to housekeeping in a cozy corner under the roof of the lodge, and one happy day out she came with three little squirrels. Oh, what frolics that mother and her children had! Such racing and chasing across the lawn, and over the fences, and up in the trees, springing from branch to branch, and sitting up so cunningly, to eat their treasures of nuts and seeds! They, were very naughty too, and would peep into the nests of the robins, and the old birds would chase them, and whip them with their wings.
The young squirrels never became tame, but the mother grew more and more familiar, and very saucy she was too. When the servants came down in the morning, she was always waiting for them by the kitchen door, impatient for her breakfast; and she would run back and forth, jump on the table, and tease the cook until she gave her something to eat. She was very fond of sweet-potatoes, and would help herself liberally, and would carry off the end of a loaf of bread half as large as herself.
As the young ones grew up they made nests for themselves, but they were never half as wise as their mother, and gave us lots of trouble—filling up a pipe-hole with sticks and straws, gnawing their way into the loft, and tearing into shreds everything their pretty hands could hold or their sharp teeth destroy, and racing over the roof at "peep of day" like a troop of tiny cavalry.
One pair made a home in the crotch of an old apple-tree, and raised a little family. One afternoon we found that a little one had strayed into a tree close by the window; it was after sunset, and bedtime for squirrels, but the little thing had nestled down between two of the branches, and would not move. The young mother was greatly distressed; she pushed and pulled, but no, the little one would not stir. After a while she ran away, and returned with a bunch of maple leaves in her mouth, which she spread over the baby, patting them down with her hands; this she did many times until the little truant was closely covered, and then ran off to where her good children were safely curled down for the night. When we came down in the morning the leafy coverlid was off, and the little one gone.
But no matter how cunning were the young squirrels, the dear old mother was always our favorite. Many little families she raised in the corner under the roof; but after three years of her happy life a swelling came on her throat, and she could not eat. She must have suffered very much; and she would come to us many times a day as if for relief, but all we could do was to talk to her, and call her pet names.
One day she came into the hall and jumped on my little boy's knee: for the first time she allowed him to stroke and caress her. She was very gentle, and did everything but talk; and it seemed as if we ought to have understood that it was her farewell. We offered her food, but she was very weak, and at length went away, and we never saw her again. No doubt she left us to die. Dear little Bunnie! I wonder if you knew how much we loved you!
F. T. C.
Stockport, New York.
I saw the comet, for the first time, about two weeks ago. I think that there is something very funny about them—the way that they rise and set, just like suns with a tail. My father says he thought when he was a boy that they were angels flying with all their glory spread out behind them, and again that they were a world on its way to destruction. There is a parish school here. I go to it. I study arithmetic, geography, spelling, reading, writing, and then there is a catechism class which I belong to. There is the Agassiz Association, which I belong to also. The teacher, Mr. H., is president of this. But I must stop now. So good-by.
Robbie V. R. R.
If you were not a nineteenth-century boy, Robbie, but instead had lived three or four hundred years ago, you would have been terribly afraid of so splendid a comet as the one which we have all been gazing at lately with so much wonder and delight. In the Middle Ages the appearance of a comet was thought to be a sign of some dreadful evil which would shortly come to pass, and old and young were thankful when the mysterious orb was no longer to be seen in the sky.
Brandy Station, Virginia.
I have a little sister named Emily, and one day she was very thirsty, and she put her hands around the pitcher and said, "You sweet water!" We have three little cousins visiting us now; we have a very nice time playing together. My brother Frankie was very proud of his letter. We are going to commence school very soon now. We have had a good many peaches this year, not in our orchard, but out on the farm. Good-by, for dinner is ready.
Rena L. S.
Farley, Virginia.
I see all the little boys and girls are writing about their pets. I have a pet dog; he is an immense dog. His color is chestnut brown. I am trying to tie him, but his neck is so big that every time I tie him he slips the collar off. I tied it so tightly that it choked him, but he slipped it. I wish somebody would tell me how to tie him. The pet duck I told you of before takes care of a pet chicken that belongs to my sister Rena.
Frank S., Jun.
I could never have the heart to tie so splendid a dog. I would allow him his liberty if I were you, Frank. But if any of the boys can think of a way to help you, they may write to the Post-office Box and give their method. Only never tie any poor animal so tightly that you choke him. We would not like such treatment ourselves.
Walton, New York.
Dear Postmistress,—I thought I would write to you, and tell you about a nice visit we had from friends. Cousin Temple and I played cars with my blocks, and when we got tired of playing cars we played circus with a tin cow and a horse on springs, and then we picked up leaves, and Temple got a whole bagful of them to carry to Michigan with him. I send a Wiggle to you. Good-by.
Helen R. S.
You must have had grand times, dear, especially playing circus. I hope nothing was broken. Your Wiggle came safely.
Lambertville, New Jersey.
I thought I would tell you about my pet, but he is dead now. He was a cat, and the nicest cat I ever had. He played hide-and-seek with me, and tag, and a good many other things. We think he was poisoned. I have a brother who takes your paper, and I take it to school, and the teacher reads the stories to the boys and girls. I like Jimmy Brown's stories ever so much. I would like him to come and see me.
Mary R.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
I am a little girl. I live out in the country during the summer; papa has a lovely summer home there. We have lovely flowers all around our house. I have a pet cat; if I sit down to my lunch, she will come and sit beside me, and will cry until I give her her lunch, and then she will come up and rub against my skirts, as much as to say, "Thanks." I have also a dog. We have hot-houses with lovely rare plants in them.
Julia L.
Clifton, Staten Island.
We have written to Young People once before, and our letter was not printed. We have ten dolls and four cats, which latter mamma thinks are entirely too many. They are quite a happy family—grandmother, mother, and two kittens—one of which we found in the garden, and it makes quite a nice playmate for the other. We send you two Wiggle pictures; they are the first we have tried. We like Jimmy Brown's stories very much, and wish he would write oftener.
Laura and Marion L. Q.
The Wiggles were duly given to our artist. I agree with your mamma that four cats are three too many, but I do not expect that you will think as I do.
The rhymes which follow were "made up" by a little woman of six, and I think they are very good for one so young: