122 THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



table-cloths, and whatever else there is of chewable 

 properties, then they are anathema. 



The havoc certain chipmunks in the mountains 

 once made among our possessions was dreadful. But 

 instead of exterminating them root and branch, a big 

 box was prepared the next summer and lined with 

 tin, in which the linen was successfully wintered. 



But how real was the loss, after all ? Here was a 

 rough log cabin on the side of Thorn Mountain. 

 What sort of table-cloth ought to be found in such a 

 cabin, if not one that has been artistically chewed 

 by chipmunks? Is it for fine linen that we take to 

 the woods in summer? The chipmunks are well 

 worth a table-cloth now and then well worth, be- 

 sides these, all the strawberries and all the oats they 

 can steal from my small patch. 



Only it is n't stealing. Since I ceased throwing 

 stones and began to watch the chipmunks carefully, 

 I do not find that their manner is in the least the man- 

 ner of thieves. They do not act as if they were taking 

 what they have no right to. For who has told Chip- 

 munk to earn his oats in the sweat of his brow ? No 

 one. Instead, he seems to understand that he is one 

 of the innumerable factors ordained to make me 

 sweat a good and wholesome experience for me so 

 long as I get the necessary oats. 



And I get them, in spite of the chipmunks, though 

 I don't like to guess at the quantity of oats they have 

 carried off anywhere, I should say, from a peck to a 



