“Sharp Eyes. What’s yours?”
“Oh, I am called Slicko, the jumping squirrel, and it’s because I can jump so well that I got away from you,” answered the little gray animal. “Haven’t you heard about me?”
“Heard about you?” asked Sharp Eyes. “What do you mean? I hear you talking now, and I heard you scrabbling around in the leaves.”
“No, I mean, didn’t you hear about my having adventures, and being put in a book?” asked Slicko.
“No,” answered Sharp Eyes, looking hungrily up at the squirrel, “I didn’t.”
“Well, I am in a book,” went on Slicko, “and it tells how I was caught by some boys, and put in a cage. But I got away and came back to the woods I love so well. But if you haven’t read the book about me, I don’t s’pose you know Blackie, the lost cat, nor Don, the runaway dog.”
“No,” said Sharp Eyes, “I don’t know either of them. I don’t like dogs.”
“Oh, but you’d like Don,” said Slicko. “He’s the nicest dog that ever was! He’s in a book, too.”
“I don’t know anything about books,” said Sharp Eyes. “All I know about is being hungry—that’s why I tried to catch you.”