116 THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



Flying squirrels were more worth while, because 

 there were none on the farm. Now, however, I deter- 

 mined to cultivate the acquaintance of Chipmunk, 

 for there might be other discoveries awaiting me. 

 And there were. 



A narrow strip of grass separated the orchard and 

 my garden-patch. It was on my way to the garden 

 that I most often stopped to watch this chipmunk, 

 or rather the pair of them, in the orchard wall. June 

 advanced, the beetles disappeared, and the two chip- 

 munks in the wall were now seven, the young ones 

 almost as large as their parents, and both young and 

 old on the best of terms with me. 



For the first time in four years there were pros- 

 pects of good strawberries. Most of my small patch 

 was given over to a new variety, one that I had 

 originated; and I was waiting with an eagerness 

 which was almost anxiety for the earliest berries. 



I had put a little stick beside each of the three 

 big berries that were reddening first (though I could 

 have walked from the house blindfolded and picked 

 them). I might have had the biggest of the three on 

 June 7th, but for the sake of the flavor I thought 

 it best to wait another day. On the 8th I went 

 down to get it. The big berry was gone, and so was 

 one of the others, while only half of the third was 

 left on the vine! 



Gardening has its disappointments, its seasons of 

 despair and wrath, too. Had a toad showed him- 



