Siccatee would not allow her family to eat too many nuts just then.  She knew that the time was coming when young birds, mice and insects would be very scarce.  So she impressed it upon them to make the very most of their time, and eat as much of that kind of food as they could get.  They might have a nut or two, occasionally, she said, and meanwhile she would teach them the proper way in which to eat a nut or an egg.

Siccatee had found an egg in some hay in a little wooden hut, next to the house at the foot of the wood, and this she had carried very carefully to one of her stores.  She considered that this would be a good time to teach her children—­there were two of them, fine young specimens of American squirrels—­their first important lesson.

So she stood up, holding the egg firmly with her fore paws, then, with a crisp snap of her sharp little teeth, she broke the shell, and cleverly sucked out the inside of it; not all, because she wanted her little ones to taste and see how good an egg really was.  And very good they thought it—­so good that in a few moments the egg was empty and the two young squirrels were quarreling over the shell.  But Siccatee soon settled that by a scolding and several sharp pats.

But she had not finished her lesson yet, and next showed them how to eat a nut.  She held the nut very much in the same way that she had held the egg.  First of all, she bit off one end of the nut with her teeth, then broke away the rest of the shell, carefully pulling off the little brown husk on the kernel, then munched it in her funny little way as though it was the greatest dainty she had ever tasted.

The young squirrels grew quite excited over this, and kept breaking and peeling nuts until their mother told them they had had enough, and sent them off to bed for the night.

Soon after this winter suddenly appeared, covering the earth and trees and bushes with a thick, white mantle—­so thick and white that all the paths in the woods were hidden and all the trees and bushes looked alike, but Sentre and Siccatee and their children knew their home, and, having wonderful memories, never made a mistake about finding either their home or their stores of food.

Some of their storehouses were quite a distance off, and in various directions, but never by any chance did either Sentre or Siccatee forget where they were.  And, although the soft, white mantle had covered all the little hiding-places, neither were in the least uneasy, but, when one or the other wanted something for dinner, they trotted off lightly and nimbly, making straight for one of the hoards; scratching away the snow, and having taken out a few nuts, or berries, or dried scraps of meat, or bread, scrambled off to eat it at his or her leisure.

It was a very hard winter, and had it not been that these little American squirrels were such good housekeepers they would have fared very badly, and their young ones would probably have died from cold and want.  But they had plenty of food and a nice, warm nest—­the very same nest in which they had lived for several seasons.