“Oh, in all sorts of places,” said the squirrel. “Sometimes I scrape a hole in the ground and bury them in it, and sometimes I put them into holes in the trunks of trees, or under their roots, if they run along the ground, or into any other little nook or crevice near where I live. In fact, I put them anywhere where it is convenient, but not where it is inconvenient. That is another of my clever notions.”
“But isn’t it rather difficult to find them again when you wake up a long time afterwards?” said Tommy Smith.
“It would be to you, I daresay,” said the squirrel; “but it is quite easy to me. You see, I have a wonderful memory, and never forget where I once put a thing. Even when the snow is on the ground, I know where my dinner is. It is under a white tablecloth then, instead of being upon one. I have only to lift up the tablecloth, and there it is.”
“Do you mean that you scrape the snow away, Mr. Squirrel?” said Tommy Smith.
“Yes, that is what I mean,” said the squirrel; “but I like to talk prettily. Well, have you anything else to ask me? You had better make haste if you have, because we squirrels can never stay still for very long, and I shall soon have to jump away. Look how my tail is whisking. I always go very soon after that begins.”
Tommy Smith thought that, as the squirrel had proposed having a chat himself, and had prevented him from going on to the woodpigeon, it was not quite polite of him to be so very impatient. But he thought he would be polite, at anyrate, so he went on, all in a hurry, “I suppose, Mr. Squirrel, as you go to sleep in the winter, you have to come out of the trees and find a place on the ground to”—
“Out of the trees!” exclaimed the squirrel. “I should think not, indeed. That would be very unsafe. Besides, I should never feel comfortable if I did not rock with the wind when I was asleep. I should have a nasty fixed feeling, which would wake me up every minute.”
This surprised Tommy Smith a good deal. He knew that squirrels lived in the trees all day, but he did not know before that they slept in them at night too. “Then do you make a nest like a bird, Mr. Squirrel?” he asked.
“Like a bird, indeed!” said the squirrel. “No; I make one like a squirrel. It is not necessary for me to imitate a bird. We squirrels can make nests a great deal better than birds can.”
Tommy Smith did not quite believe this. At anyrate, he felt sure that a squirrel could not make a better nest than some birds can. But he remembered that some other birds make only slight nests, or none at all. “And perhaps,” he thought, “he only means those kinds of birds.” But he thought he had better not ask the squirrel this, in case he should be offended, so he only said, “Oh, Mr. Squirrel, will you please tell me all about your nest, and how you make it, and what it looks like.”