Ein Cecount with WWature 
What sort of a tablecloth ought to be found in such 
a cabin, if not one that has been artistically chewed 
by chipmunks? Is it for fine linen that we take 
to the woods in summer? The chipmunks are well 
worth a tablecloth now and then, — well worth, be- 
sides these, all the strawberries and all the oats they 
can steal from my small patch. 
Only it isn’t stealing. Since I ceased throwing 
stones and began to watch the chipmunks carefully, 
I do not find their manner that of thieves in the 
least. They do not act.as if they were taking what 
they have no right to. For who has told chipmunk 
to earn his oats in the sweat of his brow? No one. 
Instead he seems to understand that he is one of the 
innumerable factors ordained to make me sweat, — 
a good and wholesome experience for me so long as 
I get the necessary oats. 
And I get them, in spite of the chipmunks, though 
I don’t like to guess at how much they carried off, — 
anywhere, I should say, from a peck to a bushel, 
which they stored, as they tried to store the berries, 
somewhere in the big recesses of the stone wall. 
All this, however, is beside the point. It isn’t 
a case of oats and berries against June-bugs. You 
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