UNDER THE APPLE-TREES 



ily to the first apple-tree twenty feet away, and, 

 perched upon its leaning trunk, sounded his little 

 alarm, " Chuck, chuck,'* for fifteen minutes or more. 

 Apparently he had but just discovered me. After a 

 time he came slyly back and resumed his foraging. 



The activity of the chipmunk when he is out of 

 his den is almost incessant. Like the honey-bee, he 

 seems filled with a raging impulse to lay up his win- 

 ter stores. When he finds an ever-renewed supply, 

 as in my orchard camp, his eagerness and industry 

 are delightful to see. The more nuts I place for him, 

 the more eager he becomes, as most of us do when we 

 strike a rich lead of the things we are in quest of. 

 Will his greed carry him to the point of filling his 

 den so full that there remains no room for himself 

 in it? Will he let the god of plenty turn him out of 

 doors? Last summer I had seen a chipmunk's hole 

 filled up with choke-cherries to within three inches 

 of the top. ("Naturally, being choke-cherries," says 

 a friend, looking over my shoulder.) 



From previous experience I calculated the capa- 

 city of his chamber to be not more than four or 

 five quarts. One day I gave him all I thought he 

 could manage, — enough, I fancied, to fill his cham- 

 ber full, — two quarts of hickory-nuts and some 

 corn. How he responded to the invitation ! How he 

 flew over the course from my den to his ! He fairly 

 panted. The day might prove too short for him, or 

 some other chipmunk might discover the pile of 



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