The Story of a Gray squirrel 



nertail in a moment had formed a habit 

 that was of his race, and that lasted all 

 his life. Yea, longer, for he passed it on 

 — this: Let the hundred-leggers alone. 

 Are they not of a fearsome poison race ? 

 Thus he grew daily in the ways of 

 woodlore. He learned that the gum- 

 drops on the wounded bark of the black 

 birch are good to eat, and the little faded 

 brown umbrella in the woods is the sign 

 that it has a white cucumber in its un- 

 derground cellar; that the wild bees' 

 nests have honey in them, and grubs as 

 good as honey; but beware, for the bee f| :| .\j -;| ^ 

 has a sting ! He learned that the little jj 

 rag-bundle babies hanging from vine and 

 twig, contain some sort of a mushy shell- 

 covered creature that is amazingly good 

 to eat; that the little green apples that 

 grow on the oaks are not acorns, and are 

 yet toothsome morsels of the lighter sort, 

 while nearly every bush in the woods at 



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