You see, Striped Chipmunk had known all the time that Happy Jack was spying on him, and he had had no end of fun fooling Happy Jack by suddenly disappearing and then bobbing into view.  He had known that Happy Jack was following him so as to find out where his storehouse was.  Then Striped Chipmunk had remembered the storehouse of Chatterer the Red Squirrel.  He had filled the pockets in his cheeks with acorns and gone straight over to Chatterer’s storehouse and put them inside, knowing that Happy Jack would follow him and would think that that was his storehouse.  And that is just what happened.

Then Striped Chipmunk had hidden himself where he could see all that happened.  He had seen Happy Jack look all around, to make sure that no one was near, and then tear open the little round doorway of Chatterer’s storehouse until it was big enough for him to squeeze through.  He had seen Chatterer come up, fly into a rage, and pull Happy Jack out by the tail.  Indeed, he had had to clap both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.  Then Happy Jack had turned tail and run away with Chatterer after him, shouting “Thief” and “Robber” at the top of his voice, and this had tickled Striped Chipmunk still more, for he knew that Chatterer himself is one of the greatest thieves in the Green Forest.  So he sat on the mossy old log and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Finally Striped Chipmunk wiped the tears from his eyes and jumped up.  “My, my, this will never do!” said he.

    “Idle hands and idle feet
      Never filled a storehouse yet;
    But instead, so I’ve heard say,
      Into mischief surely get.”

“Here it is almost Thanksgiving and—­” Striped Chipmunk stopped and scratched his head, while a funny little pleased look crept into his face.  “I wonder if Happy Jack and Chatterer would come to a Thanksgiving dinner,” he muttered.  “I believe I’ll ask them just for fun.”

Then Striped Chipmunk hurried home full of his new idea and chuckled as he planned his Thanksgiving dinner.  Of course he couldn’t have it at his own house.  That wouldn’t do at all.  In the first place, the doorway would be altogether too small for Happy Jack.  Anyway, his home was a secret, his very own secret, and he didn’t propose to let Happy Jack and Chatterer know where it was, even for a Thanksgiving dinner.  Then he thought of the big, smooth, mossy log he had been sitting on that very morning.

“The very place!” cried Striped Chipmunk, and scurried away to find Happy Jack Squirrel and Chatterer the Red Squirrel to invite them to his Thanksgiving dinner.

CHAPTER XI

STRIPED CHIPMUNK’S THANKSGIVING DINNER

    There’s nothing quite so sweet in life
    As making up and ending strife.

    Happy Jack.