A squirrel chattered not far away, and immediately the sound was perfectly imitated by the boy, who added to it the call that the squirrel makes to its mate. Soon the handsome little fellow came leaping from limb to limb of the trees until he had reached the one beneath which the boy rested. Then, by fits and starts, he descended to the ground and approached the lad. In a few moments Dick had called the wild squirrel of the woods to his knee.
Then down from the tree dropped a bird, alighting on Dick’s shoulder. The other birds drew nearer and nearer until nearly all were gathered on the lower branches of the tree.
Behold Dick Merriwell, the wild, strange boy of this mountain valley, in all his glory, king of the birds. This is the life that appeals to him and to which he clings. This is what he declines to forsake for school or any of the advantages which Frank Merriwell has offered to give him.
Dick laughed and talked to the squirrel, his voice low, soft, and musical. The squirrel whisked his tail over his back and looked the lad fearlessly in the face. A jealous bird darted down at the squirrel and compelled the little animal to hop from the boy’s knee.
“Oh, ha, ha, ha!” laughed Dick softly. “Quarreling, are you? Stop it—stop it this minute! There’s room enough for you both. No need to be jealous. Frank tells about his friends. What are his friends compared to mine! I would not give up my friends for all of his.”
For some time he remained there, with his wild friends about him. At last, a voice was heard calling through the woods:
“Dick! Dick! Where are you, Dick?”
The squirrel started up in a listening attitude, while two or three of the birds flew away at once.
“Dick! Oh, Dick! Where are you?”
It was the voice of Felicia.