CHAPTER VIII. 



THE CHIPMUNK. 



Wrrn the first sweet blossoms of the EpigcBa, and 

 long before the foremost warbler greets his old-time home 

 with gleesome songs, our little chipmunk has roused him- 

 self from his long winter's nap, and sniffing the south 

 wind, as it whirls the dead leaves about, scampers to and 

 fro while the sun shines, and dives into his winter quar- 

 ters, it may be for a whole week, if the north wind 

 whispers to the tall beech-trees. But, in due time, the 

 blustering days of March give way to showery April, and 

 then, with more courage, " Chip " faces the music of the 

 winds, let them blow as they list, and, darting along the 

 top rail of our zigzag fences, he chatters and scolds, and 

 calls to his equally noisy companions. They know full 

 well that they have the summer before them, and, while 

 determined to enjoy it, they begin early and in good 

 earnest to make arrangements for its coming duties. I 

 watched several pairs of them from March to November, 

 in 1874, and nearly all of my observations were made 

 at this time, as other mammals have occupied my atten- 

 tion since then. 



Until the weather became fairly settled and really 

 spring-like in character, these little chipmunks did not 

 often show themselves, and when they did it was only 

 in the middle of the day. They appeared to foresee the 

 occurrence of a cold rain some twenty-four hours in ad- 



