Before her the flat top of a rock projecting slightly above the surface of the ground served as a floor. A thick hedge of birch saplings grew about it, constituting the walls. The branches arching it had been cut away as high as a man’s head. Above this they joined in a dense mass, forming the roof of the bower.
Following their little host, the girls entered.
“What a lovely house,” said Helen. “Did you make it?”
“God made most of it,” he answered with great solemnity. “Mother cut away the high branches and I cut the low ones and it was done. I didn’t have it all, at first, though.”
“How was that?” Helen inquired.
“Mr. Woodchuck lived in the cellar beneath the stone. There is his stairway.” He pointed to an opening at the edge of the rock, surrounded by pebbles and clay. “As soon as I moved in Mr. Woodchuck moved out.”
“Are you all alone now?”
“Oh, no indeed, a chipmunk lives over there, who is very friendly. Up in that tree is a bird’s nest; but the young ones have gone away now. Then there are the hornets and a snake lives under the rock over there.”
“Snakes!” screamed both of the girls.
“Yes, a grass snake.” The infant was openly disgusted at the display of feminine timidity. “Who’s afraid of an old snake? I’m not. That snake is so afraid that I will catch him that he don’t dare come out.”