16 LITTLE FOLKS 
Although I was very fond of beech-nuts, and they were exquis- 
itely neat, I could not enjoy them for thinking of the poor squirrel 
that had been robbed. If I had known where he lived, I would 
have returned them. 
Did you ever see a squirrel eat? He sits up straight, takes a 
nut in his fore paws, and just nibbles the shell off. You can easily 
imagine that he must have very sharp teeth, and also that such hard 
work must dull them. How do you suppose he keeps them sharp? 
He has no grindstone or other tool. It is an exquisitely beaujtiful 
provision of Providence. His teeth are made of tough ivory, and 
coated on the outside with a thin surface of enamel, as hard as steel. 
Now, as he uses his teeth, the ivory wears off first, always leaving a 
sharp cutting-edge of the enamel. 
I must tell you why the Indians call this merry little chatterer 
by such a dreadful name as the Ogress, and why the Indian child- 
ren think it brings bad luck to kill one. 
You know Indians can't read, and during the long winter days 
have nothing to do but tell stories and eat. Ignorant people always 
are suspicious of what they can't understand, so they have a great 
many legends to account for every thing mysterious. To explain the 
black stripes on the little storekeeper's back, they have this legend : 
Once on a time, long ago (of course), a terrible old woman, 
with teeth like a wolf and claws like a bear, who spends all her time 
doing evil, eating babies and such delightful things, and whom they 
call the Ogress, spied a young red-skin playing alone in the woods. 
He was nice and plump, and this horrid old woman wanted him for 
her dinner. So she coaxed him with a basket of flowers and 
berries, and just as she grabbed the poor baby, his father and 
mother saw him, too late to save him. There was only one hope: 
they fell on their knees, and prayed in agony to the Great Spirit 
that he would use his power, and deliver their baby from her 
clutches. The prayer was granted, and though the Great Spirit 
hadn't power enough to restore the baby, he turned him into a tiny 
red squirrel, and he slipped out of her hands, though four of her 
claws left marks on his back. If you don't believe it, you can see 
the marks on that squirrel's grandchildren to this very day. 
If you were Indian children, that would be proof enough for 
you; but as you've had better teaching than the poor little red- 
skins, I don't suppose you'll believe a word of it. And, I must 
admit, I don't believe it myself. 
V 
