His morning task was to hide about a pint of 

 catkins from this yellow birch in a secret crib 

 among the ferns of the glen. Morning after 

 morning I found him busy, sometimes arriving 

 early enough to see him begin ; and I am quite 

 sure he often did his stint before he took break- 

 fast. 



Up and down the tree he would race, a round 

 trip every three minutes, loaded with a single 

 catkin each time down. After storing about 

 thirty he would stop with one upon a certain 

 bottom limb, and here, ou the under side of the 

 leaning bole, safely hidden from overhead ene- 

 mies, he would begin breakfast, scattering the 

 winged seeds, as he ate the catkin, down in a 

 thin flaky shower upon me underneath. He 

 always ate squatting close upon this same limb 

 and backed up against the trunk. The ground 

 below was snowed under with the scales which 

 had fallen as he husked the seeds. 



Here, too, he slept, I think, during the summer 

 nights. He may have had a hole among the 

 rocks, but I am sure he had no nest in the glen. 

 Having lived only part of the year with these 

 mountain squirrels, I am not so well acquainted 

 [245] 



