And yet it was simple enough. The house belonged to Mrs. Fortescue’s brother, a wealthy bachelor whose hobby it was to travel all over the world. It was he who had brought Lops, the flying squirrel, home from Mexico, and Joey, the cockatoo, from West Africa. He had lent the Fortescues his house, and there they were living, and there Jack had joined them for one of his brief holidays.
As my old master took me up to his room that night, ‘Old chap,’ he said, ‘you and I are not going to part any more, even if I have to take you back to London town.’
No more we have. He did take me back to London, but it was only for a few weeks. For the Fortescues came into some money unexpectedly.
That is two years ago. Now we are back at the dear old Hall. The new tenant with his band-box son, his ginger-whiskered keeper, his tame pheasants and his barbed wire, are things of the evil past. As for me, I live in honoured liberty in the Hall grounds. Last year I married again, and I have three fine sons who are all nearly as fond of Jack and his family as their father. Visitors come from a distance to see Jack’s ‘furry family,’ as they call us. We run in a body at his approach down from the elm-trees to smother him with caresses.
Indeed, he deserves our love. Would that all other humans were as good to squirrels as he is.
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
ANIMAL
AUTOBIOGRAPHIES
EDITED BY
G. E. MITTON