“Ttt, Ttt,” said Grandma Chipmunk, laying down her knitting, and looking over her spectacles. “Whatever shall we do? Starve?”
Thereupon little Frisky, the oldest boy, set up a fearsome squeaking, for he liked good things to eat, and did not want to starve.
Of course that started the baby off, and for a few moments no one could hear themselves think, much less talk.
Frisky having been sent out of the room, and the baby being pacified with an acorn-cup to play with, Mr. Bushy Tail spoke:
“There’s only one thing to do;” said he, “go across the frozen pond, and through the woods, to either my cousin Red Squirrel’s or else to the Chipmunks’. They will gladly lend me corn or oats enough to feed us for another month, and by that time let us hope that Spring will have come.”
“You’ll freeze in the deep snow,” said his wife, “or else you will be blown to the North Pole by the fierce wind. Then I shall be a widow, and what will the children do? Oh dear! Oh dear!” and she began to cry.
Mr. Bushy Tail comforted her as best he could, saying that he knew the path well, that the trees would protect him from the fierce wind, and that he was too nimble and quick to sink and freeze in the deep snow.
At last, he promised not to go the next morning, unless the weather was fine, so they all went to bed in their soft mossy nests.
