“Well,” I said at last, “you are taking my call in a wrong spirit.”
“Don’t I see through you!” he said fiercely. “Don’t I hear you talking me over with that imp Chummy! I’ll make him suffer for his bad talk about me. I’ll have his young ones’ blood this summer.”
“Do you think Chummy sent me to you?” I asked, in a shocked voice.
“No, I don’t,” he said roughly. “I think you came on your own sly account, you model bird trying to convert poor Squirrie and make him a smooth-faced hypocrite like yourself.”
“What do you mean by hypocrite?” I said
furiously. “I am an honest bird. I am really sorry for you, and you know it. I would like to help you to be a better squirrel, but how can I help you, if you won’t let me?”
“You help me!” he said contemptuously. “Now what could you do, you snippy wisp of feathers and bone?”
I made a great effort to keep from losing my temper. “I could be your friend,” I said. “I could talk over your mistakes with you and advise you as to future conduct. It is a great thing to have a friend, Squirrie, one who really loves you.”
He became quite solemn and quiet in his manner. “Do I understand that you are prepared to love me?” he said.
“I am,” I said firmly. “I will be your friend and stand by you, if you will promise to try to be a better squirrel.”