A SWIMMING SQUIRREL. 221 



my opinion that they form a part of nature's 

 gift to man and here, as elsewhere, such gifts 

 should be his who takes the time to go out and 

 get them. The Indian had no game laws. A 

 true son of nature he, never a game hog, but a 

 sportsman of the higher type, taking only what 

 he needed. 



An ash, gray-barked and festooned with wild 

 grape, leaning far out over a deep pool in which 

 bass, big goggle-eyes and catfish dwell; a shelv- 

 ing space of sand beneath the tree whereon to 

 sit; a sheen of placid water over which skate 

 wherrymen and whirling beetles ; a floating bob- 

 bing cork; a July sunshine genial and full of 

 yellow glory, reflecting from the bottom every 

 leaf and tiny twig of the willows on the other 

 shore this my lolling place, my heaven, for 

 three hours this morn. 



Usually I bring my rifle with me and see no 

 game. To-day I left it in the tent and a fox 

 squirrel ambled up the opposite sandy shore 

 close along the water's edge, stopped a bit, sat 

 erect and stared at me; then going farther up, 

 swam gracefully across to a leaning tree, leaped 

 on one of its branches and in a minute or two 

 came down the shore on my side to within ten 

 feet of me. Then seemingly not the least af- 

 frightened, it clambered up the bank and was 

 lost to view. As far as I remember this was the 

 first time I ever saw a squirrel swim. They move 



