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He did not move that day; he had no 

 desire to move. The sun was low when 

 at length he went forth and down. At 

 the crystal spring he drank deep and 

 drank again. Silvergray licked his fur 

 when he came back with the youngsters 

 to the nest. He was better now, and 

 next sun-up was himself again, the big, 

 boisterous, rollicking Squirrel of the 

 plumy tail, the playmate of the young 

 ones, the husband of his wife. And their 

 merry lives went on, till one morning, on 

 the bank of the creek that flowed from 

 the high hill-country, he found a tiny, 

 shiny fragment of the weird spellbinding 

 mushroom. A table scrap, no doubt, 

 flood-borne from a Redhead feast. He 

 sniffed, as he sniffed all new, strange 

 things. A moon back it would have 

 been doubtful or repellent, but he had 

 closed his ears to the first warning of the 

 inner guide ; so the warning now was very 



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