222 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 



the thick dark foliage until he found a branch just 

 to his liking was a treat. Then he sat up, his fine 

 brush-tail well up to the back of his head, ear-tufts 

 erect, and those bright eyes glancing in all direc- 

 tions to make sure that all was right, before he 

 indulged in this luxury. Very neatly he picks off 

 a fine berry with his forehands, in spite of the 

 information one of our critics solemnly volunteers 

 us that squirrels do not possess hands, I cannot 

 bring myself to call them feet, places the fruit 

 in his mouth, eating the pulp and dropping the 

 seed. Just as he is reaching out for another berry, 

 two song-thrushes dash down on to his branch. He 

 gives one look of amazement at the intruders, then 

 makes a dash at them. This they by no means 

 appreciate, for they know that if they once get into 

 the clutch of the squirrel it will go hard with them. 

 He belongs to the gnawers ; but, like the rest of 

 that family, or at any rate most of them, he indulges 

 at times in other diet than a strictly vegetable one. 



These sights are most interesting, but the inside 

 of a bush is not quite so comfortable as the out- 

 side of it. I burst out suddenly. Master Squirrel 

 chatters and is off. All I see of him is his tail. As 



