The life story of a squirrel

by T. C. Bridges

The scraping of boots on the rough outside bark jarred the whole hollow trunk. Presently I heard a voice from below: ‘Where be ’e, Zeke?’

‘Can’t see un, vather!’ cried the boy, who was by the sound on the crown of the oak.

‘That vool Tige’s let ’im go.’

‘I’ll lay ’e ain’t,’ piped the boy.

‘Where be ’e, then?’

Silence and more groping up above. I began to hope that the hole through which I had passed might escape the sharp eyes of the boy.

No such luck.

‘’E’s down inside, vather. ’Ere be th’ ’ole.’

‘Put thy ’and down an’ pull un out.’