the cup of an acorn and strips of shell, showing 

 the squirrel went directly to the right place. It is 

 to be observed how many of these excavations are 

 under pines, sometimes several under a single tree. 

 As late as the ist of April I have noticed a gray 

 squirrel busy under a pignut, burying the nuts 

 which had lain on the ground through the winter. 

 He would first rapidly shuck them, then dig a small 

 hole, force them well into the earth with a vigorous 

 push with his jaws, and as rapidly cover them again. 

 In this way he would bury a dozen in as many 

 minutes, and then make off through the woods. 

 Between the squirrels and the mink family the 

 difference is as much a matter of disposition as of 

 structure. The mink is the evil genius of the place. 

 His character has written itself in his physiognomy, 

 glitters in his eye and shows itself in the serpentine 

 motion of his head. His silence speaks. But his 

 presence is agreeable in a way, for it is a touch of 

 that savage nature we do not otherwise get with- 

 out going back into the wilderness. A squirrel 

 reveals his candor in his inquisitiveness and in his 

 noisy ways; curiosity gets the better of his fears. 

 These psychologic differences are as marked with 

 animals as with men. 



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