Part 2

THE LOG SCHOOLHOUSE 29 “The schoolhouse stood on the bank of a little river.”

LITTLE MITCHELL’S FIRST MEAL 37 “The Lady dipped the end of her finger in the milk and put it in Little Mitchell’s mouth.”

LITTLE MITCHELL CRIES FOR MORE 47 “He had squirmed out of the blanket.”

LITTLE MITCHELL IN HIS LADY’S CAP 59 “All curled up in a little round ball in his lady’s cap.”

LITTLE MITCHELL WARMING HIMSELF 69 “He would flatten himself out and warm the under side of his body before the fire.”

LITTLE MITCHELL’S FIRST CHESTNUT 75 “He took it in his baby hands, and sat up, and looked around, very wise indeed.”

LITTLE MITCHELL WASHES HIS FACE 87 “Out there in the corn-field he climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and sat there and washed his face with his little hands.”

LITTLE MITCHELL LIKES CHINKAPINS 95 “He sat on the Lady’s knee and cracked chinkapins, and would give the shells a toss that sent them far away.”

LITTLE MITCHELL ON A FROLIC 107 “Hop, hop, went Little Mitchell, all up and down the room.”

LITTLE MITCHELL IN HIS BOX 119 “There he lay on his back, like a hot, tired, human little baby.”

LITTLE MITCHELL’S VISITOR 131 “He scampered off as if the old cat were after him.”

LITTLE MITCHELL AND HIS WHEEL 143 “As soon as he moved the wheel began to turn, and he began to run.”

LITTLE MITCHELL PLAYS WITH HIS TAIL 155 “It was funny to see him hanging by his hind toes from his screen, head downward, and play with his tail.”

LITTLE MITCHELL PLAYS WITH A STRING 169 “Across the room and back again he would chase it.”

LITTLE MITCHELL SITS IN HIS CHAIR 181 “He sat in the doll’s chair before the little table, and ate his supper.”

LITTLE MITCHELL LISTENS TO THE WHISTLE 189 “He would climb up on the screen, and there he would stay, as still as a mouse.”

LITTLE MITCHELL

LITTLE MITCHELL

THE STORY OF A MOUNTAIN SQUIRREL

LITTLE MITCHELL’S LADY COMES

Baby Mitchell was an August squirrel. That is, he was born in the month of August. His pretty gray mother found a nice hole, high up in the crotch of a tall chestnut tree, for her babies’ nest; and I know she lined it with soft fur plucked from her own loving little breast,—for that is the way the squirrel mothers do.

This chestnut tree grew on the side of a steep mountain,—none other than Mount Mitchell, the highest mountain peak in all the eastern half of the United States. It is in North Carolina, where there are a great many beautiful mountains, but none of them more beautiful than Mount Mitchell, with the great forest trees on its slopes.

One of these forest trees was the big chestnut where Baby Mitchell was born. In the warm and lovely summer he lay safe in his snug nest twenty feet above the ground.

How many little brothers and sisters there were, I do not know, for a very sad thing happened, and all of them died but Little Mitchell. I must tell you what this sad thing was that happened to the little squirrels.

There was a small log-cabin at the foot of the mountain, and here lived a father and mother and a very large family of very small children. There was no other house near; and the father had to go a great many miles through the woods to his work in a saw-mill that some one had set up in the mountains.

And the children had to go such a long way to school, over little rivers that they crossed on narrow foot-logs; and through deep shady woods, where the sun could scarcely send a ray down through the tops of the tall trees; and under tangled rhododendron bushes that were often like little trees they were so large, and in the summer time were covered with masses of splendid white flowers.

Yes, it was a beautiful forest, though it was very, very wild; but there were no dangerous animals to hurt the children, excepting once in a while a long rattlesnake that wiggled out of the way as fast as it could if anybody came along.

The children loved their forest home, and they could run across the foot-logs without slipping into the little rivers, for they had no shoes, and their pretty bare feet had learned to cling to whatever they touched, like the feet of the wild animals, and they, you know, never tumble down or slip on a log.