THE DISCONTENTED SQUIRREL 69 
like a stone, and would have been crushed if he 
had fallen upon the ground; but, luckily, he first 
struck a close mass of twigs and foliage on the top 
of a large tree. This broke the violence of the fall, 
and he came down gently to the branches beneath, 
when he managed to catch hold of a twig and come 
to a stop. He was bruised and bleeding, and half- 
dead with the shock; but by and by he revived, 
and then what was his relief and joy to discover 
that he was at home—that he had fallen into 
his own favourite old oak-tree! On recovering a 
little strength he crept down the trunk, and after 
satisfying his hunger with two or three hazel-nuts 
from his store, he crawled into his unfinished nest, 
where he coiled himself up, and drawing the blankets 
over his ears, mused drowsily on his unspeakable 
folly in having forsaken so comfortable a home. 
And as to migration—well, “Never again!” he 
murmured as he dropped off to sleep. 
The story greatly pleased me as I retold it to 
myself, after having forgotten it for so many long 
years, since I now perceived that it was a fable of 
the right sort; that, in fact, it was a true story— 
in other words, true to the creature’s character. 
Stories about reasoning and talking animals do 
not always conform to this rule, which has made 
the terse fables of AXsop a joy for ever. Whether 
the author knew it or not, it is a fact that the 
squirrel is subject to fits of discontent with his 
surroundings, which send him rushing off in quest 
of some better place to live in; and at such times 
