[Illustration: squirrel drawing]
JIM CROW 
I always called him that because he was so dark and because I have no race prejudice whatever. People used to allude to him as my Crow, but the real truth lay much deeper than that. If there was any idea of possession in our somewhat singular relationship, I was Jim’s—he was not in the least mine. 

He adopted me one day at sight. I was walking through a pasture about fourteen miles from my cabin, when I saw Jim sitting upon a rail fence. He did not move at my approach, and I thought he must be a stuffed animal, put out to dry by some taxidermist in the neighbourhood. I walked up to him and, at length, stroked his head gently. At this, he opened his eyes, yawned, and with a sleepy “Caw-w-w-w,” perched upon my shoulder and so rode home with me, in spite of my protests.To this day I have never been able to solve the mystery. I examined him carefully for signs of damage, but to all intents and purposes he was sound in wind and limb, free from pink-eye, string-halt, or glanders, and not afraid of automobile or steam roller. He ate plentifully of the simple meal I cooked over my camp-fire, and, while I washed the dishes, followed me around like a devoted dog. I suppose he must have recognised me as a Little Brother of the Woods—at any rate, he stuck to me closer than a brother while our strange attachment lasted. When I perceived that Jim had no intention of leaving the cabin, I went outside, shook him off my shoulder, and ran back, closing the door gently but firmly. Imagine my surprise to hear a loud, jubilant “Caw!” from the rafters. Jim had anticipated me, and had flown in—when, I did not know. Three times this was repeated. At last, I thrust my head and shoulders through the window and remained there some time, enjoying the landscape and the Summer moonlight. Jim, still on my coat collar, finally went to sleep, and this time I easily dislodged him, then quickly closed the window with a triumphant bang. Outside, everything was suspiciously still, and I began to wonder whether or not Jim had taken offence and left me for good. I was still meditating when there was a crash of glass, and Jim, having broken the window, joined me with every evidence of pleasure. I saw plainly that I must make the best of a bad bargain for the night, and the next day, or as soon as possible, put crowbars on all the windows of the cabin. I retired, but not to sleep. Jim followed me into my cot, stretched himself full length on my pillow, and put his cold, clammy feet on my cheek. When I moved, Jim flopped. When I turned over, burying my face in the pillow, Jim sat on my head, scratching constantly. I tried to put a bit of the sheet between us, but it was useless. Presently, Jim slept, as 

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