“He tried to rob my Uncle Munkle of his winter store!” replied the squirrel. “And he got the worst of it, that’s all.”
“Who is your Uncle Munkle?” asked Toto. “I don’t know him, do I?”
“No,” said Cracker. “He lives quite at the other end of the wood, where people sometimes go for fagots and nuts and such things. Nobody ever comes near our end of the wood, because they are afraid of Bruin.
“My uncle is a Munk,” he continued, “and a most excellent person.”
“A monk?” interrupted the grandmother in amazement.
“Yes, a Chipmunk!” said the squirrel. “It’s the same thing, I believe, only we spell it with a u. Third cousin to a monkey, you know.”
Toto and his grandmother both looked quite bewildered at this; but the raccoon smiled sweetly, and said,—
“Go on, Cracker, my boy! never try to explain things too fully; it’s apt to be a little tedious, and it is always better to leave something to the imagination.”
“I am going on,” said Cracker. “As I said before, people sometimes go into that part of the wood; there are one or two hives not far from it.”
“One or two hives?” interrupted Toto. “What do you mean, Cracker?”