Niece. What a pretty chain. I dare say some young lady has lost him, by his having such a nice chain.
Aunt. Well, then all we have to do, is to feed him well, and, if we find the owner, return him.
Niece. I hope we may never find out who it belongs to.
Aunt. You should not say so, my dear. Now suppose, Nancy, you had a squirrel
and it ran away from you, how should you like never to see it again? and should not you think it wrong, if any body had found it, and knew who it belonged to, and would not return it? To be sure you would.
Niece. True, madam, but I did not think of that. But Aunt, very likely he is hungry: shall I get him something to eat?
Aunt. Do, my love.—Nancy then ran, but presently returned with a nice mess of bread and milk, which I eat very heartily. She then put some clean hay, and a handful of nuts into my cage. A knock at the door called off the attention of Nancy, and presently entered two young ladies and a young gentleman. One of the young ladies was Miss Fanny Hudson; the other was Miss Kitty Bell; and the young gentleman, Master Henry Hudson, brother to Fanny. As soon as they entered the room, they paid the usual compliments to Mrs. Greville, (which was the name of the good lady who found me,) but had
their eye upon me all the time. The following discourse I can pretty well remember, as it began concerning me; and we usually listen with greater attention when the conversation is concerning ourselves.
Fanny. What a pretty squirrel you have got, Miss Greville: what is become of the other?
Nancy. Oh dear, Fanny! if I have not told you, you have a dreadful piece of news to hear. Oh dear! how my heart did jump up and down for two hours after it. The cat had no dinner on Thursday. I was playing with my squirrel, when the maid entered the room, and did not see the cat till my poor Tom was in her mouth; and what was almost as bad, I flung my work-bag at her in a rage, it caught in the lock of the door, and tore this large hole in it. I was so vexed.