112 BEYOND THE PASTURE BARS 



you, tell you with all his peppery might to go 

 straight back home, for your mother wants you. 



Oh, he is the smallest whirlwind, the tiniest tem- 

 pest, the biggest little somebody in all the knot- 

 holes of the woods. He spills over with loud talk 

 and conceit. But I like him, for all of that. And 

 he likes me. He is interested in me every time 

 he sees me. A gossiping gadabout, a busybody, 

 a tiresome little scold, a robber of birds' nests (so 

 I am told), a fighter, a nuisance (when he makes 

 a nest in my cellar, as he did last winter), a thief, 

 a what shall I say more? Just this: that, in 

 spite of all his faults, I like chickaree, and I don 't 

 want him put in jail or hanged not unless he 

 really does eat young birds and suck eggs. 



They say he does. Did you ever see him! Now 

 I have seen old birds flying at him as if afraid he 

 might come near their nests, or as if he had robbed 

 them before; but here are six or ten red squir- 

 rels in my yard and I have never caught one kill- 

 ing young birds. You must watch him yourself; 

 and when you see him do it (not hear him, nor 

 hear about him), when you see him robbing a 

 nest make him into pot-pie right off, then write 

 me a letter telling me all about what you saw 

 him do. 



