“I am never tired of watching the squirrels!” cried Annie, who had been looking for some time at the lively little animals scampering in the trees; “just look what funny little things those are!”

“The young ones are just old enough now to eat the nuts and berries,” replied Uncle John; “see how they are feasting!”

“Where do they live, uncle; in a hole?” asked George.

“Oh, George! where are your eyes!” cried his brother; “look up there; don’t you see the little mud and twig cabins at the very top of the tree! those are their nests!”

“I once read an interesting story,” remarked Uncle John, “of a squirrel that tried to kill himself; would you like to hear it?”

“Oh yes, uncle!” they all cried in a breath.

“Well, this squirrel was very ill-treated by his companions; they used to scratch and bite him, and jump on him till they were tired, while he never offered to resist, but cried in the most heart-rending manner.  One young squirrel, however, was his secret friend, and whenever an opportunity offered of doing it without being seen, would bring him nuts and fruits.  This friend was detected one day by the others, who rushed in dozens to punish him, but he succeeded in escaping from them by jumping to the highest perch of the tree, where none could follow him.  The poor outcast, meanwhile, seemingly heart-broken by this last misfortune, went slowly to the river’s side, ascended a tree which stood by, and with a wild scream jumped from it into the rushing waters!”

“Oh, uncle! what a melancholy story,” cried Anne, quite touched by the squirrel’s sorrows.

“But wait, dear; our wretched squirrel did not perish this time, he was saved by a gentleman who had seen the whole affair, and who took him home and tamed him.  He was an affectionate little creature, and never attempted to return to the woods, although left quite free.  His end was a sad one at last; he was killed by a rattlesnake!”

“Oh, horrid!” cried George, “that was worse than drowning.”

“So I think, Georgy.  But isn’t it time for us to move homewards?  Wash the dish, Annie, at the spring, and Tom shall bag it again.”

It was nearly dark when they reached the log-house, tired with their long walk, and the weight of their full bags, but in great spirits nevertheless, for they brought back a prize in an immense wild turkey, which Uncle John had shot on the return march.  They had seen a great many of these beautiful birds during the day, but none near enough to shoot; at last a gang of some twenty ran across the path close to them, and the ready rifle secured the finest.  Uncle John carried it by the neck, slung over his shoulder, and so stretched, it measured full six feet from the tip of the beak to the claws.  The plumage of its wings and spreading tail was of a rich, glossy brown, barred with black, and its head and neck shone with a brilliant metallic lustre.