known that the Flying Squirrel has not a monopoly of the aërial navigation business as far as mammals are concerned. His body, it is true, is especially constructed for flying. The loose skin with which his legs are connected spreads out in falling, parachute fashion. Perhaps the other Squirrels have learned this from him; perhaps they learned it independently, but it is certain that a Squirrel can fall from almost any height without apparent inconvenience. They flatten their bodies and tails against the air and sail triumphantly downward, alighting easily and scampering off unhurt.

I did not know this before, but now I saw it done repeatedly. It was one of Kitchi-Kitchi’s favourite amusements to send Meeko and Bismarck to the topmost branch of a lofty oak near by, and at her signal make them jump. The one reaching the ground first was rewarded with a nut and a playful, coquettish pat. Like the Chipmunks, the Squirrels hide their food, though it is done differently and on a much smaller scale. The Chipmunk will hide much and all in one storehouse; the Squirrel hides very little and everything in a different place—an ear of corn in the crotch of a tree, a handful of acorns under the eaves of a barn, bits of bread between two twigs, relying on the spring of the wood to keep it in position, and nuts everywhere.

I saw a terrible quarrel once, between Bismarck and a Blue Jay who raided his bakery. When it was over, Bismarck had four pecks on his body and one peck of feathers for his nest. The Bird immediately started south, though it is not common for this species to travel in the altogether. He was naked and very much cast down—in fact, the bluest jay I ever saw. One day I did something for Kitchi-Kitchi which won her eternal gratitude. We had gone fishing together, as we often did, and she sat upon the gunwale of my canoe, sorely tempted to rock the boat, but obedient to my expressed command not to. Presently, by gestures, she made me understand that she was thirsty. I dipped up a cup of water from the lake on which we were rowing and offered it to her, but she put it aside with disgust. So I put a little brandy from my flask into the water and offered it to her again. She was indignant and scolded me violently—her language was positively scurrilous. When we landed she still insisted that she was thirsty, and, at my wits’ end, I drew some of the sap from a tree for her and offered it to her in the cup. She drank every drop and whisked about madly to express her joy. She nibbled at my ears and put her cool nose into my neck, then tried to tickle me under the chin with her paw, making a noise, meanwhile, that sounded like “Kitchi-Kitchi.” It was unpleasant, but I understood the spirit of 

 Prev. P 40/112 next