“A balloon is something that goes up in the air,” answered Squinty, “and it has bags of sand in it.”

“Well, I can go up in the air, when I climb a tree,” went on Slicko, with a jolly laugh.  “Am I a balloon?”

“No, you are not,” said Squinty.  “A balloon is very different.”

“Well, I know where there is some sand,” spoke Slicko.  “I could get some of that and put it in leaf-bags.  Would that make me a balloon?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Squinty answered.  “You could never be a balloon.  But if you know where there is some sand perhaps you know where there is some sour milk.  I am very hungry.”

“I never heard of sour milk,” replied the girl squirrel.  “But I know where to find some nuts.  Do you like hickory nuts?”

“I—­I guess so,” answered Squinty, thinking, perhaps, they were like acorns.  “Please show me where there are some.”

“Come on!” chattered Slicko.  She led the way through the woods, leaping from one tree branch to another over Squinty’s head.  The little pig ran along on the ground, through the dry leaves.  Sometimes he went on four feet and sometimes he stood up straight on his hind feet.

“Can you do that?” he asked the squirrel.  “It is a trick the boy taught me.”

“Oh, yes, I can sit up on my hind legs, and eat a nut,” the squirrel girl said.  “But nobody taught me.  I could always do it.  I don’t call that a trick.”

“Well, it is a trick for me,” said Squinty.  “But where are the hickory nuts you spoke of?”

“Right here,” answered Slicko, the jumping squirrel, hopping about as lively as a cricket, and she pointed to a pile of nuts in a hollow stump.  Squinty tried to chew some, but, as soon as he took them in his mouth he cried out: 

“Oh my!  How hard the shells are!  This is worse than the sand!  I can’t chew hickory nuts!  Have you no other kind?”

“Oh, yes, I know where there are some acorns,” answered Slicko, “but I do not care for them as well as for hickory nuts.”

“Oh, please show me the acorns,” begged Squinty.

“Here they are,” spoke Slicko, jumping a little farther, and she pointed to a pile of acorns in another hollow stump.

“Oh, these are fine!  Thank you!” grunted Squinty, and he began to eat them.  All at once there sounded through the woods a noise like: 

“Chat!  Chat!  Chatter!  Whir-r-r-r-r-r!” “My, what’s that?” cried Squinty, turning quickly around.

“That is my mamma calling me,” said Slicko, the jumping squirrel.  “I shall have to go home to my nest now.  Good-by, Squinty.  I like you very much, and I hope I shall soon see you again.”

“I hope so, too,” spoke Squinty, and while he went on eating the acorns, Slicko ran along the tree branches to her nest.  And in another book I shall tell you some more stories about “Slicko, the Jumping Squirrel,” but in this book I have room to write only about Squinty.