THE SQUIRBELS' HIGHWAY. 93 



shingle on which the other dare not beat his 

 rattling tattoo. 



As usual, a quarter of an hour's wait by the 

 boulder's side brings to view one or more fox 

 squirrels. As I write I see one perched on his 

 haunches on the horizontal limb of a maple, 

 from which a great ring or encircling patch of 

 bark has been removed. The squirrel a few 

 moments ago crawled out, gnawed off a piece 

 of the bark and is now sitting erect munching at 

 it. I knew not before that they ate sugar maple 

 bark in June-time. 



Where the trees are close enough together 

 these squirrels travel long distances in their tops. 

 One starts from one oak to another along 

 branches which are slightly overlapping yet too 

 slender to permit his leaping from one to the 

 other. Twice he essays the trip but turns back. 

 A third time he cautiously creeps forth and 

 gently presses down the branch on which he is 

 resting until its leaves and twigs are interlaced 

 with those of the other. Gingerly and slowly 

 he creeps across the frail bridge, 60 feet or more 



