"You think you're very smart," he said, and he hobbled slowly away to the veranda where he could be nearer the table.
I looked after him wondering what was the matter with his paws, and reflecting that although I don't dislike chipmunks, I find them very disrespectful.
Such a darling little junco called to me with his sharp kissing note. He was in the lilacs over me and he had been watching the chipmunk. "Chew, chew, Pony," he went on. "Supper's ready—I'm glad, aren't you?"
I stared up at him and said, "Junco with the grey head and white tail feathers, I like you."
"And I'll like you," he returned, "if you'll not get between me and the supper table. I'm hungry."
"What's wrong with that chipmunk's feet?" I asked the junco.
"He was a performing squirrel in a show. They used to make him dance by turning on a gas flame under his cage."
"Why didn't he cling to the bars?" I asked.
"They were charged with electricity. Though I am only a country bird I have heard how cruelly animals are treated in cities."
"How did the chipmunk get here?" I inquired.