TINY 



ribution, but to any one who knows the 

 fighting ability of the little red whirlwind it 

 can be taken with a grain of salt. It would 

 be impossible for robins enough to gather 

 around a red squirrel to kill him. In my 

 cabin dooryard, while I have been writing 

 this article, a desperate fight has taken place. 

 Ten crows, made bold by hunger, attacked 

 Tiny and tried to take possession of a loaf of 

 bread. The squirrel never flinched, but stood 

 over the bread, and whenever a crow got over 

 the dead-line, filled the dooryard with feathers. 

 I did not interfere, but saw the fight from 

 the cabin window. The black rogues were 

 obliged to retreat when Tiny got downright 

 mad. When the fight began Tiny did not 

 try to hurt the crows. He would run at one 

 and allow him to hop into the air and take 

 wing. It appeared to me that Tiny was just 

 scaring the crows away. When he found that 

 they were in earnest, he got mad and made 

 the feathers fly, and the crows had to leave 

 to save their lives. 



I am writing natural history just as I find 



