In the Sierra 



are already out of their cups and pods seek- 

 ing their predestined places. Some will strike 

 root and grow up beside their parents, others 

 flying on the wings of the wind far from 

 them, among strangers. Most of the young 

 birds are full feathered and out of their nests, 

 though still looked after by both father and 

 mother, protected and fed and to some ex- 

 tent educated. How beautiful the home life 

 of birds ! No wonder we all love them. 



I like to watch the squirrels. There are 

 two species here, the large California gray 

 and the Douglas. The latter is the brightest 

 of all the squirrels I have ever seen, a hot 

 spark of life, making every tree tingle with 

 his prickly toes, a condensed nugget of fresh 

 mountain vigor and valor, as free from dis- 

 ease as a sunbeam. One cannot think of 

 such an animal ever being weary or sick. 

 He seems to think the mountains belong to 

 him, and at first tried to drive away the 

 whole flock of sheep as well as the shepherd 

 and dogs. How he scolds, and what faces 



