Tommy Smith looked all about near where the squirrel was sitting high up in the tree, and at last he saw something that looked like a little black ball. “Is that it?” he said.
“Yes,” said the squirrel, “that’s it. Look! Now I am in it,” and he made a little spring at the ball of sticks, and disappeared inside it. The jump made the thin end of the branch swing about, and the squirrel’s summer-house swung with it, so that it looked as if it might be shaken off.
“Oh, do come out,” Tommy Smith cried. “I’m sure it can’t be safe in there.”
“Not safe!” said the squirrel, as he poked his little head out, and looked down at Tommy Smith. “Do you think I would live with all my family in a house that was not safe? I have a wife and five children, you know, and we all live here together.”
“Do you really, Mr. Squirrel?” said Tommy Smith, for he could hardly believe it.
“Why, of course we do,” said the squirrel; “and great fun it is, too. You should see how we swing about in a high wind. Delightful!”
Tommy Smith thought that it would make him giddy. “It must be dangerous,” he said. “Suppose you were all to be swung out, or the branch were to be blown off, or”—
“Oh, we never think of such things,” said the squirrel. “They are sure not to happen; and even if they did, we should be all right, somehow, I daresay.”
“I don’t think you would,” said Tommy Smith. “The woodpigeon might, perhaps, but, you see, you can’t fly, and so”—