Part 18

At last the lady sat down, and tried to coax him to sit still with her; but he wouldn’t do that, either. He jumped up on her shoulder, and cocked his tail up over his head,—it was quite a tail by this time,—and peeped out at the photographer, and at the queer box with a glass eye that kept pointing at him. The photographer snapped, the way they do when they take a picture; but Little Mitchell was too quick for him, and gave his tail a flirt that spoiled the picture.

Then the photographer got all ready again; but this time, just as he was about to take the picture, Little Mitchell jumped up on his lady’s head,—and that, of course, wouldn’t do.

So they got all ready again, with Little Mitchell sitting on his lady’s knee; but again he flirted off, just in time to spoil the picture.

Then he climbed up on his lady’s arm, and the photographer whistled, and Little Mitchell cocked up his tail and his ears,—just as you see him in the picture,—and listened, and in a trice the man had pressed the bulb and the restless Little Mitchell had his picture taken after all. Whether it was a success or not, you can decide for yourself; for it is the frontispiece to this very book.

When the lady was ready to go, she could not find Little Mitchell. That is because he was in the photographer’s pocket. He had climbed in there to hide away after the excitement of having his picture taken; and at last the photographer laughed, for he knew the little rascal was there all the time, and hauled him out, squirming and protesting, and handed him to the lady.

In a few days she was ready to go on to Boston; and she said she would be glad to get there, so as to have a suitable place for Little Mitchell, where he would not have to be shut up so much and yet could not get into mischief.

So they said good-bye to the Hartford friends, and started for Boston, Little Mitchell in his little box, which he did not like at all.

They had their lunch on the train, and Little Mitchell’s lunch was chestnuts and chinkapins, which he ate sitting in the corner of the seat next the window. But his lady had some very dainty sandwiches, made of thin slices of bread and butter with cream cheese between.

Presently Little Mitchell smelled the lady’s lunch, and it smelled better than his own; so he threw down his nut and ran up on her arm and tried to take her sandwich away from her.

She said no, for she feared it might not agree with him; but he said yes, he would have some, and he snatched and got a crumb which he crowded into his mouth.

The lady set him down on the seat and gave him his nut; but he threw it down, and again snatched at her sandwich. He nearly got it all this time, but the lady caught it away just in time. Then he began to scream and struggle and fight for the sandwich, until the people in the car began to laugh, and then the lady gave him a little piece, and he sat up very straight, eating cheese sandwich and looking as solemn as an owl.

When they neared Boston, there was a struggle to get him into his box; for he had decided he wouldn’t go. But this time he had to; and the minute they got off the train the lady drove to a bird-store and got a big wire squirrel-cage to take home with her.

As soon as she was in her own room, she let Little Mitchell out. Such a relief as it was to get him safely there! And such a time as he had getting acquainted with his new home! He went all about the room,—over the couch, on the table, all through the bookcase, and even into the closet where the lady hung her dresses.

Then he helped her to unpack her trunk and put everything away. Of course the way he helped was to get under her feet or her hands and be in the way all the time as much as possible.

Then the lady put him in the big new cage, and shut the door. He walked all around it, and then got into the wheel. You know the wire wheel that is always in a squirrel-cage? As soon as he moved, of course the wheel began to turn, and he began to run. The faster he ran the faster it turned, until he fairly flew.

At last his legs ached so he could run no more, and he stopped, and then the wonderful wheel stopped too; but as soon as he took a step, it turned again. Finally he jumped out; but in a few minutes he went back and tried it again. He thought it was splendid fun; and so all in a minute, without any teaching, Little Mitchell learned how to use his play-wheel.

The lady stood close by the cage and watched him, for she feared he might be frightened by it, and if he had seemed at all troubled she was ready to put in her hand and stop the wheel until he gradually learned how to use it.

LITTLE MITCHELL’S HAPPY DAYS

Little Mitchell was a very happy squirrel in his Boston home. His lady’s room had a large bay-window in the end, that looked out over the tops of the houses and away off up the beautiful Charles River; and there was a large platform, almost like a little room, in the bay-window, and here, by the side of the writing-table, stood his cage. Its door was always open when the lady was at home, and he had glorious frolics all about the big room.

He climbed everywhere, but the best fun was racing over the Japanese screen. The lady had no tree for him to climb, so she gave him the screen to play with; and up and down it he would go, now this side, now that. But he had the best time biting the eyes out of the birds on the screen and unravelling the embroidery.

Then he would sit up on top of the screen and gnaw away at the wooden frame. You see, when he was spoiling the screen he was not spoiling anything else; and as he liked the screen better than anything else, his lady said he might as well eat it up if he wanted to, so she gave it to him.

It was very funny to see him go up the side of the screen, which stood upright, you know, like the wall of a house. His claws were as sharp as a cat’s, and he would hold on by his front feet, and jump up with his hind feet and get a new hold with his front ones, and so on. He looked as though he went hopping up the screen. And it was funnier still when he came down head-first.

But funniest of all was to see him hang by his hind toes, head down, and play with his tail! He was very fond of playing with his tail, and when he was on the floor he would often chase it just as a kitten does. It was a fine tail by this time, long and bushy; and when he got excited he would fluff it out until it looked like a real grown-up squirrel’s tail.

But talking of tails, the most outrageously funny thing Little Mitchell ever did was to roll himself up into a ball, with his tail hugged in his arms and held between his teeth, then go over and over, like a ball, from one end of the platform to the other.

The first time the lady saw him, she was rather startled,—she could not imagine for a moment what that queer soft-looking ball was, rolling so fast about the platform. How she did laugh when she saw that it was only Little Mitchell amusing himself! She had never seen a squirrel or anything else act like that before.

He was so funny playing about the room, hanging by his toes from the screen and rolling around like a ball, that the lady could do nothing but watch him when he was out of the cage. She said he wasted all her time; and he certainly did waste a great deal of it.

The first thing in the morning, he had to be fed and given a drink of fresh water. He ate all sorts of nuts now, but he would not crack the hard ones himself. The lady used to bring home any nice new nuts that she saw when she was out, and Little Mitchell was always on hand to open her parcels. He enjoyed opening them as much as you do when your mother comes home from shopping. If he found nuts, he would get into the bag and paw them all over, and at last run off with one. If there were no nuts, he would sniff at everything, and then go off, though sometimes he found something he liked to play with in the parcels.

When he was hungry, he insisted on sitting upon the lady’s knee to eat his nuts. Of course he could sit up as well as anybody now, and hold the nut in his funny little hands. Some people would say paws; but if a squirrel has not hands, then nobody has. Just watch one take a nut and turn it over and over with those hands, and finally hold it firmly between those ridiculous little nubbins that are his thumbs, while he gnaws it. And then watch him comb his tail with his fingers, and wash his face with his hands, and catch your watch-chain when you dangle it in front of him. Only, you see, he always uses both hands at once. At least Little Mitchell did, for the lady never saw him take anything in one hand alone. And he did not pick up things with his hands,—he picked up his nuts with his mouth, and then took them in his hands.