“For a time Squirrie was pretty bad. The only way they could make him behave was to keep watching him. Then the Big Red Squirrel had an idea come in his head. He has a horrid old sister too ugly to mate with anyone. He keeps her up north. He sent for her and gave Squirrie to her. She is very strong and bad-tempered, and she soon cuffed the two policemen squirrels and sent them away. Squirrie hated her at first and begged the Big Red Squirrel to kill him and put him out of his misery, but now Chickari says she is leading him round like a little gentle baby squirrel. He is frightened to death of her, and never dares to rebel. She works him hard and has him even now laying up stores for winter. She says, ‘If you don’t behave I’ll take you further north, where the wind will cut you in two.’”
I laughed heartily. “What a joke on Squirrie;”
then I said, “Hush, Chummy—what is this little girl saying about our dear Martins?”
We both looked down to the sidewalk where a young girl was trotting along beside her mother.
“Mummy,” she said pointing to the Martins’ house, “in there lives a woman who raises birds from the dead.”
The mother laughed and Chummy said, “Isn’t that a joke? Your Missie is getting famous.”
“They send for her from all over the city,” I said, “for her or for our Mary to go and doctor sick birds. A lady up in that big apartment house telephoned yesterday for Missie to come quickly, for her canary was having dreadful fits. Missie went and looking at the bird said, ‘Cut his claws, Mrs. Jones. They are so long that they trip him up and make him fall down on the floor of his cage.’”
Chummy was not listening to me. His eyes were fixed on Black Thomas who was gazing upward, his face as soulful as if he had been doing something to be proud of.
“He’s probably been catching an extra number of birds,” I said gloomily.
“No, that isn’t a bird look,” said Chummy. “T-check, t-chack, Thomas, what is the matter with you?”