THE SQUIRREL 29 



squirrel is as grey as a rabbit in winter, and it is 

 only then that it has the long ear-tufts. By the 

 time it has got on its summer red the tufts are gone, 

 and its ears are scarcely more distinguished than 

 those of the mouse. 



Suddenly I lose the picture of an acanthus-tailed 

 squirrel even in grey. Perhaps it has been digging 

 at another squirrel's hoard, perhaps it is the victim 

 of robbery, more likely the spirit of boisterous love 

 comes into the wood on a sunbeam. There is a 

 short sound like a cough, and another squirrel 

 rushes out from somewhere, the acanthus-tailed 

 one drops its booty, and, as Huckleberry Fin sa^s 

 expressively, ' lights out.' All its beautiful pose is 

 thrown to the wind, the curved body becomes a 

 long straight line, and the tail a long straight 

 continuation. The two squirrels rush off venire a 

 terre, just like stoats, double round a tree, and 

 come rushing back towards me, double again and 

 away, but this time the pursuer, taking a shorter 

 corner, catches the other, and for a moment they 

 tumble one over the other more like vulgar rats 

 than the dainty squirrels they are. Then one of 

 them, it is impossible to tell which, rushes up a 

 tree, and the other comes nosing back towards the 

 little pit whence the fir-cone was dug. 



When the squirrel is moving about leisurely in 

 the search of food on the ground, it is seen to be 

 much more like a large dormouse than a small 

 rabbit. The dormouse, too, in spite of its sleepy 

 habit during the winter, is an astonishingly active 



