“She quickly answered:—
“‘That would be lying to him. Whenever I hold out my hand to him, I have something in it for him to eat. If I held it out empty, I should be saying there was something for him to eat in it, and that would be a lie. He would come to me then and find out that I had deceived him. You do quit believing—pardon me—you quit believing—anybody that tells you lies.’
“I admitted my propensity to distrust untruthful persons, and she gravely asked:—
“‘Why then do you wish me to deceive the poor little squirrel? Do you want him to think me a person not to be trusted?’
“I made some lame excuse about his being only a dumb animal, and she quickly responded:—
“‘But dumb animals are entitled to truthfulness, are they not, particularly when we ask them to confide in us? I should be ashamed of you, Monsieur’—you know she always calls me ‘Monsieur’ when she is displeased with me—‘if I did not understand. The human people do not know the animals—how trustful they want to be if only we would let them. We set traps for them, we deceive them in a hundred ways, and that is why they distrust us. I did read a few days ago—you smile, Monsieur; I should say, I read the other day—that the wild creatures are selfish, that they care for us only as a source of food supply. That is not true, as that squirrel shall teach you. It is true that all the wild creatures are hungry all the time. There is not food enough for all of them, and so when we offer them food, they come to us, even in fear. They have many of their young to feed, and their supplies are very scant. That is why they congregate around houses where there is waste thrown out. But oh, Monsieur, many hundreds of them do starve to death in the long winters. You notice that in the spring there are a dozen robins on the lawn; in the early summer, when they have brought forth their broods, there are scores and hundreds of them. But in the next spring there are only the dozens again. The rest have perished of cold and hunger. I have been reading Mr. Darwin’s book, and I know that this is the universal law of progress, of advancement by the struggle for existence, and the survival of the fittest under the law of heredity. But it is very cruel. That isn’t what I wanted to say. I wanted to show you that even the wild creatures—hungry as they always are—have affection. I am going to make that squirrel come to me and sit on my shoulder without giving him any food as a temptation. You shall see. After that, I will give him plenty to eat.’
“And she did. She wheedled the squirrel till he came down his tree, crossed the lawn, and invaded her lap. It was only then that she gave him the peanuts with which she had filled her pockets. I tell you that girl is a born scientist, and that her knowledge is wonderful. Did it ever occur to you that the squirrels and birds that seem so happy here in the Wyanoke grounds are habitually in a state of starvation?”
Just then Evelyn came walking toward the porch. The mare was closely following her, and a squirrel perched upon one shoulder, while a robin clung to the other. She had pockets in her gown—she insisted upon pockets—and from these she fed the wild creatures. Upon getting a nut, the squirrel leaped to the ground, and upon receiving a bit of bread, the robin flew away.
“You see,” said Kilgariff, “how coldly selfish and calculating your wild creatures are. The moment they get something to eat, they quit your hospitality.”