UNDER THE APPLE-TREES 
does not know me from a stump or a clothes-horse. 
His cold paws on my warm hand, on my arm, or on 
my head give him no hint of danger; no odors 
from my body, or look from my eyes, disturb him; 
the sound of my voice does not alarm him; but any 
movement on my part, and he is off. It is moving 
things — cats, weasels, hawks, foxes — that mean 
danger to him. In the little circuit of his life — 
gathering his winter stores and his daily subsistence, 
spinning along the fences, threading the woods and 
bushes, his eye and his ear are evidently his main 
dependence; odors and still objects concern him lit- 
tle, but moving things very much. I once saw a 
chipmunk rush to his den in the side of a bank with 
great precipitation, and in a moment, like a flash, a 
shrike darted down and hovered over the entrance. 
I can talk to my chipmunk in low, slow tones and 
he heeds me not, but any unusual sound outside the 
camp, and he is alertness itself. One day when he 
was on my table a crow flew over and called sharply 
and loudly; the squirrel sat up and took notice in- 
stantly; with his paws upon his breast he listened 
and looked intently for a few seconds, and then re- 
sumed his foraging. At another time the sharp call 
of a red squirrel in a tree near by made him still more 
nervous. With one raised paw he looked and lis- 
tened for two or three minutes. The red squirrel 
hazes him on all occasions, and, I think, often robs 
him of his stores. 
ll 
