No one went near Squirrie’s hole. The old policemen squirrels had left word that no bird was to enter it. The Big Red Squirrel had heard that it was an excellent home for a squirrel and he was going to send down another one of the clan, and, sure enough, late in the afternoon, didn’t the beloved Chickari with a brand-new mate come loping down the street.
The birds all gathered round him, to hear news of Squirrie. “Was he dead?”
“No,” he said, he had been let out on parole. He was to keep near the Big Red Squirrel’s own private wood on a gentleman’s estate, and if he did one single bad thing he was to be killed.
“How did he look when he was brought up before the squirrel court?” asked Chummy.
“Very saucy at first,” said Chickari, “and made faces, but—”
“Well, what happened?” asked Chummy.
“I don’t like to tell you,” said Chickari, looking about at the young sparrows listening with their beaks open.
“Go on,” said Chummy sternly. “These are rebellious times. It won’t hurt these young fellows to learn how bad birds and beasts are dealt with.”
“The policemen laid his shoulder open with their teeth,” said Chickari unwillingly, “but a little blood-letting is cooling, and it stopped his mischief and made him beg humbly for pardon.”
“Well,” said Chummy, speaking for us all, “we hope he may become a better squirrel, but we also hope that his squirrelship, the judge of all the clan, will never send that bad creature down here again.”