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 But he thought a minute, as they all stood in silence and gloom;
and then he guessed they might find some sugar at Deacon Spear’s,
close by, on the back road, and that would be better than nothing.
Mrs. Peterkin was pretty cold, and glad not to wait in the
darkening wood; so the eight little boys walked through the wood-
path, Hiram leading the way; and slowly the carryall followed.
They reached Deacon Spear’s at length; but only Mrs. Spear was
at home. She was very deaf, but could explain that the family had
taken all their syrup to the sugar festival.
“We might go to the festival,” exclaimed the boys.
“It would be very well,” said Mrs. Peterkin, “to eat our fresh syrup
there.”
But Mrs. Spear could not tell where the festival was to be, as she
had not heard; perhaps they might know at Squire Ramsay’s.
Squire Ramsay’s was on their way to Grandfather’s, so they
stopped there. They were told that the “Squire’s folks” had all gone
with their syrup to the festival. The man who was chopping wood
did not know where the festival was to be.
“They’ll know at your grandfather’s,” said Mrs. Peterkin, from the
carryall.
“Yes, go on to your grandfather’s,” advised Mr. Peterkin, “for I
think I felt a drop of rain.” So they made the best of their way to
Grandfather’s.
At the moment they reached the door of the house, a party of
young people whom Elizabeth Eliza knew came by in sleighs. She
had met them all when visiting at her grandfather’s.
“Come along with us,” they shouted; “we are all going down to
the sugar festival.”
“That is what we have come for,” said Mr. Peterkin.
 “Where is it?” asked Solomon John.
“It is down your way,” was the reply.
“It is in your own New Hall,” said another. “We have sent down all
our syrup. The Spears and Ramsays and Doolittles have gone on
with theirs. No time to stop; there’s good sleighing on the old road.”
Hiram said he could take them back with the wood-sled, when he
heard there was sleighing on the old road. So it was decided that the
whole party should go in the wood-sled, with the exception of Mr.
Peterkin, who would follow on with the carryall.
Mrs. Peterkin would take the armchair, and cushions were put in
for Elizabeth Eliza, and more apple pie for all. No more drops of rain
appeared, though the clouds were thickening over the setting sun.
“All the way back again,” sighed Mrs. Peterkin, “when we might
have stayed at home all day, and gone quietly out to the New Hall!”
But the little boys thought the sledding was great fun,—and the
apple pie! “And we did see the kettle through the cracks of the
shanty!”
—Lucretia P. Hale.
 THE GRASS

The grass so little has to do,—

A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,

And stir all day to pretty tunes

The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap,
And bow to everything;
And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine,—
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass

In odors so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,

And dream the days away,—
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay.
—Emily Dickinson.
 SUNSET
Where ships of purple gently toss
On seas of daffodil,
Fantastic sailors mingle,
And then—the wharf is still.
—Emily Dickinson.
 THE BABY SQUIRRELS
The four baby squirrels were tired of staying in their soft nest in
the hollow tree. They wanted to find out what was going on in the
world outside.
As they cuddled together in the shadowy hole they could hear the
queerest sounds. They cocked their heads curiously at the rustling
and whispering of the wind among the leaves. They heard chirping
and singing, and a silvery tinkle, tinkle from the brook.
Once a bee flew buzzing right over their heads, and made them
clutch one another in terror.
One morning, when the old mother squirrel was away hunting for
birds’ eggs to eat, the smallest baby crept to the mouth of the hole
and peeped out with his round bright eyes.
All around and above him there were wonderful green things
flickering and fluttering. Twinkles of sunlight danced through the
leaves and dazzled him. Something soft and cool blew back the new
bristles on his lips and ruffled his satiny red fur.
He was so much interested that he sat there, staring and staring,
till the other little ones began to squeak and scold him for shutting
out the light.
 After he crept down again to the nest the others climbed up, one
by one, and looked out. They blinked and winked at each wonderful
sight; they sniffed the strange odors, and twitched their eager little
heads at every new sound.
The scream of a blue jay in the tree-top above them sent them
scampering inside again, to cuddle close together in the darkest
corner. It was fun to see something new and exciting, even if it did
make them shiver all over.
Soon the mother squirrel came springing from branch to branch
to reach the hollow.
How the babies squeaked and chattered in welcome! Very likely
they told her about the wonderful sights and sounds in the strange
world outside the hole.
The smallest one clasped his fore paws around her neck, and
coaxed her to let them all go out to find more interesting things. It
was stupid there in the dark nest, with nothing to watch except the
patch of light across the opening above them.
 The old squirrel knew that the little ones were not strong enough
yet to leave the nest.
To be sure, they had grown and changed very much since the
first days. Then they had been ugly little creatures, like tiny pug
dogs, with big heads, no fur, and their eyes tight shut.
Now they were half as big as she was herself. Their eyes were
like jewels, and their red fur was smooth as satin.
But their tails, with only fringes of hair along the sides, were not
nearly so fluffy as the mother’s. Her tail was long and plumy. It
curved so gracefully over her back that she seemed to be sitting in
its shadow. One name of the squirrel is “shadow-tail.”
For a few weeks longer the four babies scrambled about the
doorway and looked longingly out at the wonderful green tree-world.
They did not dare to step out upon the slender branches, for fear of
falling off.
It made them feel dizzy to look away down to the ground below.
They did not know how to cling to the limbs with their feet while
they balanced themselves with their tails.
When the young squirrels were almost strong enough to learn to
run and climb in the tree, the mother began to build another home
higher up the trunk. The old nest was growing too warm for
comfort, as summer brought the long sunny hours.
The squirrel father was not there to help his mate.
The mother squirrel thought the tree belonged to her, and that
she needed all the room in the hollow for her little ones. She chased
him off to live in the woods with all the other squirrel fathers till the
babies were big enough to take care of themselves.
The mother squirrel worked on the new nest in the early morning.
She bit off leafy twigs and carried them to the top of the tree. There,
where two branches forked, she packed the sticks and leaves
together in a loose ball.
Then she pushed a doorway through, at one side or another, just
as she happened to be standing.
This was not such a neat home as one in the next tree. That
other mother squirrel built her new nest of strips of bark tied
together with ribbons of soft fibre. Over the doorway she hung a
curtain of bark, and lifted it up carefully whenever she went inside.
At last the new home was ready. The old mother hurried down to
the hollow and called the babies to come out and follow her. They
stepped out, one after another, just as carefully as they could.
The smallest baby came last. He dug his claws into the bark and
hung on. The branch seemed so narrow that he trembled from fear
of falling.
The tree swayed in the wind. The branch bounced up and down,
and a leaf blew in his face. The poor little fellow shut his eyes,
because everything seemed to be whirling round and round.
When he opened his eyes again he saw the three other little ones
climbing up the trunk above him. They clutched the bark with their
claws, and moved forward, one paw at a time.
The mother was running on ahead of them. Every few steps she
turned around to coax them on faster.
Finally they reached a narrow branch which led over to the new
nest. They crawled out on it, lifting one foot and then setting it down
before lifting another.
The farther they crept the narrower the branch grew under them.
Their little paws began to slip over the smoother bark. The one in
front tried to turn around, but he was afraid of falling. So they all
three scrambled backwards to the safe trunk.
 The mother ran back to them, and chattered and scolded. Again
and again they started out over the branch, and then went
scrambling back.
When at last the mother had coaxed them across to the nest she
looked around for the smallest baby. There he was, away down at
the door of the old nest.
The old squirrel was tired out. Her fur was ruffled and her ears
drooped. She ran down to the nest and began to scold the little
fellow. He sat up and put his paws around her to let him stay there.
But she started him up the trunk and pushed him along to the
branch. Then she took hold of him by the neck and carried him
across to the new home.
After that the little ones were taken out every morning to practise
climbing. Little by little they learned to balance themselves on the
branches. Their tails were fluffy enough by this time to be of use in
balancing.
 First to one side, then to the other, each baby tilted his tail as he
crept along, step by step. Every day they could move a little faster.
Finally they were able to chase one another up and down, from
branch to branch.
They went running around the trunks, skipping and leaping from
twig to twig, and jumping from one tree to another, even through
the air.
Sometimes one or another missed his footing after a reckless
jump. Often he caught hold of a branch below by a single toe and
lifted himself up to a firmer foothold.
Or, if there was no branch within reach, he spread out his fur, and
flattened his tail, and went sailing down to the ground, almost as if
he could fly. They never seemed to get hurt.
The little squirrels seemed to be always doing something. They
turned somersaults in the grass, or swung by one paw from the tip
of a tough branch.
There was always something to do or to see. Now they chattered
at a blue jay, or chased a toad for the fun of watching him hop. Now
they caught beetles or scolded at a fox slinking along through the
woods. And every day there was the excitement of finding
something to eat.
The babies lived on milk till they were almost as heavy as their
mother. Then she began to feed them with fruit and buds and grubs,
which she first chewed for them.
Like the beavers and the hares and rabbits, each had four chisel
teeth in the front of its mouth. They needed to gnaw hard nuts or
bark every day to keep these teeth from growing too long.
The young squirrels were three months old in July and were then
big enough to take care of themselves. Away they scampered from
the old home tree and found new homes in stumps and hollows. The
smallest one used to curl up in an old robin’s nest to sleep at night.
 All day long they were as busy as they could be. There were
cones to be gathered from the evergreens. The little squirrels ran up
the trees in a hurry, and, cutting off the cones with their sharp teeth,
tossed them over their shoulders to the ground. Every few minutes
they scurried down to bury the cones under the pine needles for the
winter.
Sometimes a drop of sticky pitch from the cut stems was rubbed
against their fur. That made them so uncomfortable that they had to
stop and lick it off.
The squirrels loved to be clean. Ever since they were tiny babies,
with their new red fur, they always helped one another with washing
their faces and combing their tails with their claws.
They were careful to run along logs over a muddy spot. If one
happened to get wet he dried himself with his fluffy tail.
When they were tired of eating seeds and twigs they hunted for
grubs. Clinging to the bark of a dead tree, they listened till they
heard something gnawing beneath the surface. Then, tearing off the
bark in ragged pieces, they pounced upon the flat whitish grub
beneath and ate him up.
But the best time of all came in the autumn when nuts were ripe.
Then what fun the little squirrels had! Early every morning out
popped the little heads from the hollow stumps and logs. The big
round eyes twinkled eagerly in every direction. Then, whisk! they
were out, with a bark and a squeak!
Scampering to the top of a tree, each one took a flying leap to
the next tree. Up and down they followed the squirrel-paths through
the woods till they reached the grove, where the nuts were ripening.
It was a busy place, with little wings fluttering and little feet
pattering, and yellow leaves drifting down in the sunshine. All the
squirrels scurried to and fro, picking one nut here, and another
there.
 They sat on the branches, with their bushy tails curving over their
backs, and held the nuts in their fore paws to nibble. The smallest
baby could open the hardest walnut and clean it out in less than a
minute.
All the while the blue jays and the thrifty chipmunks were
gathering nuts and corn, and hiding their stores for the winter. That
seemed so interesting that the squirrels gathered some, too.
Autumn passed away, and the days grew colder. In the woods the
leaves were all fallen and the branches were stripped bare of nuts.
Every morning when the squirrels poked out their heads the air
nipped their noses. Frost sparkled on the dead grass. The chipmunks
had crept into their holes for the winter, and most of the birds had
flown away south.
The squirrels were not quite so gay now as in the autumn days,
when they danced upon the branches and whistled and chuckled
over the good things to eat and the curious sights to see. They slept
with their warm tails wrapped over their noses.
 They still ran busily through the tree-tops, except when snow or
icy rain kept them shut within their holes. They ate all the nuts they
could find, and dug up the buried pine cones. They climbed the
hemlock trees and ate the seeds.
Once the smallest squirrel happened to dig up a heap of nuts
from between two stones under the snow. He could not remember
whether he had hidden them himself or not. How he squealed when
he saw them!
Late in the winter the squirrels had eaten all the nuts and cones
within reach. They were so hungry on many a day that they tried to
creep into a chipmunk’s hole and steal his store of food. But he was
smaller than they were, and he had wisely made one bend in his
tunnel too small for them to pass.
Then they had to live on bark and seeds till spring started the
tender green plants to growing.
The squirrels gnawed the bark of the maple trees and drank the
sweet sap that came oozing out. Later there were elm buds to nibble
and birds’ eggs to suck. The woods were once more green with juicy
leaves.
All the squirrels went to housekeeping. Soon in almost every tree
there was a family of squirrels peeping out with their round, bright
eyes.
—Julia A. Schwartz.
 THE BABY THAT SLEEPS IN A
POCKET
For days and days the baby opossums lay crowded close together
in their mother’s furry pocket. They slept and drank milk, and grew
and grew till their eyes began to open.
It was dark all around them, but above their heads a gray line
showed where light was stealing in over the edge of the pocket.
The biggest baby opossum looked up with his little bright eyes.
He wanted to see more. So he crawled up, clambering over the soft
tiny bodies of the eleven other babies.
Some of them wriggled and squirmed under his little bare feet.
After slipping back once or twice he reached the edge and poked his
pointed white snout outside.
He could not see anything because he was under his mother, and
her long fur hung down over him. She was lying on a nest of grasses
in a hollow tree.
That was where she stayed all day long while the sun was
shining. Every night at dusk she climbed down the rough trunk and
went to hunt for something to eat.
When she felt the tiny claws of her baby clutching her fur she
looked down between her fore paws at the little mouse-like fellow.
Then with her smooth pink hands she gently pushed him back
into the pocket and closed the opening. He was not big enough yet
to come out of the warm dark nursery.
 So for a week longer he cuddled down beside the others, while
they all slept and drank more milk and grew stronger every hour.
The biggest baby was so restless that he scrambled around and
crowded the others. Once he caught hold of a tiny tail between the
thumbs and fingers of his hind feet, and pulled till the little one
squeaked. His fore feet were like tiny hands without any thumbs.
At last, one day, he saw the edge of the pocket open a crack. He
was so glad that he climbed up as fast as he could scramble, and
pushed outside. He held on to his mother’s fur with all four feet.
When she reached down to smell him the bristles on her lips
tickled his nose. Then he climbed around upon her back and twisted
his tail about hers to hold him steady.
He looked like a mouse with his long tail, his black ears, his bright
eyes twinkling in his little white face, and his pointed nose.
In a few minutes another and another baby followed the big
brother and clung there on the mother’s furry back. It must have
seemed a noisy place to them, for in the pocket they had heard only
the soft rustling and scratching of the mother’s feet on the nest.
Now they could hear a chirping, and a squeaking, and a rattling
of branches. They crowded close together in fright at the scream of
a blue jay, as it chased a chattering red squirrel through the tree-
top.
Then a sudden loud thump—thump—thump of a woodpecker
hammering on the bark of the tree sent them tumbling back to the
nursery in a hurry.
After this the whole family climbed out every day to play about on
the mother’s back. The biggest baby liked to curl his small tail about
her large one, and then swing off head downward.
Sometimes he pushed the others down just for the fun of seeing
them scramble up again, hand over hand, clutching the long fur.
 Of course he was the first one to poke his head out every day.
Once he woke from a nap in the pocket and started to climb outside.
But he stopped halfway, hanging to the edge with both fore feet.
It was nearly evening, and the mother opossum was clambering
down the tree-trunk to go hunting for her supper.
The baby held on tightly while she trotted away through the
woods. Now and then a leaf rustled or a stick cracked under her
feet. Sleepy birds were twittering in their nests.
The mother pricked her ears and listened, for she ate eggs and
young birds whenever she could find them. She had not tasted an
egg this spring, because she could not climb very nimbly with her
pocket full of babies.
Soon she came to a swamp, and splash, splash, splash! the mud
went flying. It spattered the baby’s face and made him cough.

Then he heard the croakings of dozens of frogs, and it frightened

him so that he slid back into the nursery with his brothers.
 The mother was trying to catch a frog to eat. Now she jumped
this way, and now she jumped that way. Such a jounce as the babies
felt when she gave a spring for a big green fellow sitting on a log.
She caught him, too, but the jounce almost knocked the breath
out of the twelve soft bodies in her pocket.
Every day the babies stayed outside the nursery for a longer time,
though they were always ready to hurry back at the mother’s first
warning grunt.
They kept growing bigger, too, till one night they could not all
crowd into the pocket. Then they cuddled together on her back, with
their tails twisted around hers.
In this way they rode through the woods when she went hunting.
They watched with their bright eyes while she turned over rotting
logs with her snout to catch the grubs underneath.
Sometimes she rooted in the ground for sprouting acorns, or
nipped off mouthfuls of tender grass. Once she caught a young
rabbit. Then how excited the little opossums were! And how they all
squeaked and hissed together as they rode trotting home.
By this time they had cut their teeth,—fifty sharp little teeth in
each hungry mouth. Then the mother picked some sweet red
berries, and taught the hungry babies how to eat them. They
learned to chew the juicy roots that she dug in the field.
The babies were greedy little things. She was a good and patient
mother. Of course, as long as they were small enough to stay in her
pocket she carried them everywhere with her. Even when they grew
as large as rats they rode on her back through the woods. These
twelve fat babies were so heavy that sometimes she staggered and
stumbled under the load.
One night when all the babies were trotting along on their own
feet they saw gleaming red eyes in the dark bushes before them.
Something round and furry snarled and sprang at them.
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