“And give up Chummy?” he asked.
“Why should I give up Chummy?” I said. “He is a good, kind-hearted bird. I think he would become your friend too, if you reformed.”
“I hate Chummy,” he said.
“But don’t you understand, Squirrie,” I said
quickly, “that if you become a good little animal, instead of hating everybody, you will love everybody, and you will feel so much more comfortable. It’s dreadful to be so mad inside all the time. It eats up your strength, and your kind-heartedness.”
I thought Squirrie was impressed, for he was silent for a long time and kept his head down. Then he began to laugh, quite quietly, but at last so violently that he shook all over.
I stared at him, not knowing what to make of him.
“You little tame yellow brat,” he said at last, “do you think I want to get like you? You have no fun in life.”
“What is fun?” I asked quietly.
His eyes shone like two stars. “Making things squirm,” he said.