“If it should prove to be a gray squirrel,” said Phonny, “what a capital bargain I shall have made. A squirrel worth a quarter of a dollar, for ten cents.”
“I don’t see why a gray squirrel is so much more valuable than a red one,” said Wallace. “Is gray considered prettier than red?”
“Oh, it is not his color,” said Phonny, “it is the shape and size. The gray squirrels are a great deal larger, and then, they have a beautiful bushy tail, that lays all the time over their back, and curls up at the end, like a plume. The red squirrels are very small.”
“Besides,” continued Phonny, “they are not red exactly. They are a kind of reddish brown, so that they are not very pretty, even in color. I am afraid that my squirrel will be a red one.”
“I am afraid so, too,” said Wallace.
“The red squirrels are altogether the most common,” said Phonny.
“There are the bars,” said Wallace, “now we shall soon see.”
They had arrived in fact, at the bars. Phonny jumped off his horse and gave Wallace the bridle, and then went to take down the bars. As soon as he had got them down, he left Wallace to go through with the horses, at his leisure, and he himself ran off toward the rock where he had left the trap, to see what sort of a squirrel he had.
Wallace went through the bars in a deliberate manner, as it was in fact necessary to do in conducting two horses, and then dismounted, intending to put the bars up. He had just got off his horse when he saw Phonny coming from the direction of the place where the trap had been left, with a countenance expressive of great surprise and concern.