VIII 



THE CHIPMUNK 



As the woodchuck sleeps away the 

 bitterness of cold, so in his narrower 

 chamber sleeps the chipmunk. Happy 

 little hermit, lover of the sun, mate of 

 the song sparrow and the butterflies, 

 what a goodly and hopeful token of the 

 earth's renewed life is he, verifying the 

 promises of his own chalices, the squir- 

 relcups, set in the warmest corners of 

 the woodside, with libations of dew and 

 shower drops, of the bluebird's carol, the 

 sparrow's song of spring. 



Now he comes forth from his long 

 night into the fullness of sunlit day, to 

 proclaim his awakening to his summer 

 comrades, a gay recluse clad all in the 

 motley, a jester, maybe, yet no fool. 



His voice, for all its monotony, is 



inspiring of gladness and contentment, 



whether he utters his thin, sharp chip or 



full-mouthed cluck, or laughs a chittering 



37 



