Part 21

You see, he did not crack his own nuts, because he did not know how. It must be that mother squirrels start the nuts for their young ones; but Little Mitchell’s lady did not know that, only she saw nuts that the squirrels had gnawed, and there were two little holes in the sides opposite each other. But Little Mitchell did not gnaw the sides of the nut,—he always tried to gnaw the end; and you know it would take him forever to get at the meat that way. So finally the lady started his nuts with a penknife in the right place, and Little Mitchell would try very hard to finish opening them; but he liked much better to have his nuts cracked with a hammer, so that he could peel off pieces of the shell.

No doubt he would soon have learned to open his nuts himself, and do it very well, only something happened that made this impossible. It is strange he did not know how, he knew so many other things the squirrel folk know, but that they had never taught him. You remember he knew how to clean himself and wash his face in the funny squirrel way. And he knew how to talk squirrel talk. He had several sounds that meant different things.

The funniest talking he ever did was when he saw the dog in the backyard. It was away down below him, and not in his yard either, but in another yard over the fence. It is strange he should have noticed the dog so far off; but he had good eyes, had Little Mitchell,—and the way he screamed and scolded when he saw the dog! You never heard anything like it,—unless you have been scolded by a gray squirrel out in the woods sometime!

He was sitting looking out of the big window, when the little dog ran across the yard. Up went Little Mitchell’s hands across his breast, in the most comical manner, as though he were pressing them over his fast-beating heart. Then he stretched his neck, and opened his mouth wide, and screamed at the dog. The way he screamed when his mouth was wiped was nothing to this. How he did go on!—just as the gray squirrels in the woods do when they are very much excited; and he had never heard a squirrel do it in all his life.

There were gray squirrels on Boston Common, where Little Mitchell sometimes went to walk with the lady; but he did not take the slightest interest in them.

There are more squirrels on the Common sometimes than others. The winter Little Mitchell was in Boston there were several of them living on the Common, and they had nests in some of the trees. Yes, they built nests that looked like big clumsy bird’s-nests, and they went into them to sleep and to keep warm.

One cold winter day, when Little Mitchell’s lady was crossing the Common early in the morning, and Little Mitchell was not with her, a big gray squirrel ran up to her and asked for a nut. Of course he could not ask in people’s talk, but he asked very plainly in squirrel talk,—in their sign language. He made no sound, but signed for nuts in the prettiest way, running close up to her, flatting out a little toward the ground, and looking up into her face as Little Mitchell looked when he was coaxing for something. The lady had no nuts with her; but she brought some when she came that way again. Then she found somebody else had given him nuts, and he was sitting on the ground eating them. Of course this squirrel did not pass the winter in a nest in the branches of a tree. Oh, no, he had a nice warm hiding-place inside a big tree that had a hole in the crotch so that he could get in.

Once there were a great many squirrels on the Common, but one day there were none. They had all gone off. What had become of them? everybody was asking. The policeman knew, for he saw them go. It was very early in the morning, and they went all together, single file, across Cambridge bridge. They were on the bridge railing, one old fellow leading the way. Perhaps there were getting to be too many of them to be comfortable on the Common. Perhaps they were tired of city life. Anyway, the policeman saw them go, and that was the end of the squirrels on the Common for some time. At least, so I was told.

A good many city parks have gray squirrels in them, but where else are they so tame as in the park at Richmond, Virginia? Little Mitchell’s lady was there one day, before she had found Little Mitchell, and the squirrels were so tame they came right up and ate out of her hand; and when she stooped down to speak to one, another little fellow raced right up her back,—which rather startled her, because she was not used to squirrels then.

Well, Little Mitchell grew fast, and promised to become a very large and handsome squirrel, when he made a dreadful mistake one day and licked the heads of the matches. He got into the match-box somehow,—he was always opening boxes to see what was in them,—and he liked the taste of the matches, never suspecting what sad results would follow.

The lady looked about at last to see what he was up to,—for if he was quiet more than a minute at a time it meant mischief. How she jumped when she saw what he was doing! But it was too late, and little Mitchell tumbled over then and there, and the lady thought he was dead; but he was not.

He appeared to get over it and be perfectly well again; and the lady—who did not know as much about phosphorus poisoning then as she was soon to learn—thought nothing was to come of it. You see, phosphorus is the stuff on the ends of matches that makes them light; and it is poison,—and a mean, horrible poison too.

Little Mitchell played about as usual for a few days, rolling like a ball on the platform, racing over the screen, and tormenting the lady when she wanted to work. Then one morning he was frightfully sick and he stayed sick all day. He sat hunched up on the couch, making queer, mournful little noises, and eating nothing.

He could not even bear the gentle touch of the lady’s hand, and screamed if she came near him, he was so afraid she would touch him. So she left him to himself, and went to the doctor and asked about it, and the doctor told her what to do. There was not very much she could do then, but keep him warm and wait.

For two or three days Little Mitchell was a very sick squirrel; but then he began to get better again, and soon was running about almost as well as ever,—but not quite. He seemed weak, and could not use his hind legs as well as usual. But he was still very cunning and lively, and as affectionate as ever.

While he was sick, the lady let him sleep under the corner of her travelling rug instead of in his cage; and when he got better he still wanted to sleep in the rug. He would creep in to take a nap in the daytime, and at night he teased so to stay that the lady yielded at last, and fixed him a bed on the floor, at the head of her own couch. She doubled a towel in between two folds of the rug, for sheets, as it were; but Little Mitchell did not like the towel, and would creep in on top of it or under it. Then it was pinned down so he had to go into it; and at last he got used to it, and always went in right, whether it was pinned or not.

After a few days the lady woke up one night and thought she heard him making queer noises. She got a light, and, sure enough, there he was, as sick as ever. But he got over it again, and went on for a long time about as usual, though his hind legs seemed weaker than before. He could scarcely climb to the top of his screen, and never raced over it and hung by his toes, as he had liked to do.

He had to take medicine; but he would not touch his drinking water if the medicine was put in that, so the lady got it in the form of little sugar pills. He was very fond of sugar, you know, though he was not allowed to eat much candy; and he liked those little pills, and was always ready to eat one whenever it was given him.

He liked his flaxseeds, too, at first, and would crunch them up, one at a time, between his sharp little teeth; but he soon got tired of them, and would not eat them unless the lady made him. The way she managed was to pour some of the seeds in the palm of her hand, and give them to him early in the morning. If he would not eat them, she waited, and after a while offered them again; and not a bit of breakfast would he get until he had eaten his flaxseeds. He soon learned that he must eat them, and it was funny to see him try to get rid of them by pawing them out of the lady’s hand. He would paw them all out into her lap; but she would gather them up again, when he would stick in his nose very hard, so as to spatter half of them out. He would munch two or three, looking at her out of his bright eyes; then he would nose around in them again, until he had spilled them all out into her lap. But again she would gather them up, and so they would keep on until he had eaten what was necessary for him.

LITTLE MITCHELL GOES TO SLEEP

One day Little Mitchell’s lady said good-bye to him, and went away to stay two or three days. He had been well now for more than a week, so that she did not feel troubled at leaving him.

A friend promised to attend to him in her absence; but this was easier said than done. She opened the cage, thinking he would come and sit in her lap as he did in his lady’s.

Sit in her lap? Not a bit of it! Nor would he take any nuts from her, nor have anything to do with her. As soon as he got out of the cage, off he scampered, and she could not catch him. So she took a book and sat still, hoping he would return to his cage, in which she had laid some nuts.

Presently she heard a match snap, and looking quickly up, saw Little Mitchell drop a lighted match and scamper off.

Some one had dropped a match on the floor, and poor Little Mitchell had found it. This time he gnawed it and set it on fire, which made him quickly drop it, and thus he did not get so much of the poison as before, though he burned the whiskers all off the side of his face again. It was the same side they were burned off before, but they had grown out since then.

He went into his cage at last; but he ate scarcely anything, and was a very unhappy little fellow until his lady came back to him. You may be sure he was glad to see her! She let him out the minute she got into the room, and he climbed up and cuddled close to her face, and then ran around and around her,—for though it was hard for him to climb the stiff screen, he could climb up on his lady’s dress quite easily. He hung about her as though he could not bear to leave her for a minute, and kept this up as long as she stayed in the room.

But the extra taste of phosphorus soon had its effect, and next day the poor little fellow was sick again. But he recovered as before.

Then he had another misfortune. He got his tail skinned.