Hazel Squirrel
AND OTHER STORIES

By
Howard B. Famous

FULLY ILLUSTRATED

Whitman Publishing Co.
RACINE, WISCONSIN

COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
Whitman Publishing Co.
RACINE, WIS.
Printed in United States of America

CONTENTS

• In Squirrel Town 7
  
• Hazel and Bushy-tail Visit Some Strange Lands 15
  
• Mrs. Screech Owl 26
  
• The Raccoon and the Bees 41
  
• Pinkie Whiskers 67
  

ILLUSTRATIONS

• Little Hazel Was Playing Far Out on a Leafy Branch (Frontispiece)
  

• Page

• “I’ll Be Down in a Jiffy” 9
  
• He Held Out Some Nuts to Them 13
  
• She Rocked Them in her Doll’s Cradle 21
  
• Mr. Bat Saw Them Huddled Together 23
  
• Mother Squirrel Entertains Her Visitors 27
  
• The Squirrels Go on a Picnic 32
  
• Feasting on Hazel Nuts 36
  
• The Raccoon Watches the Boys 40
  
• “Yum, Yum, But It Is Fine” 48
  
• “Oh, Coonie, Tell Me Where It Is” 51
  
• Chuck Arrived at the Big Oak Tree 55
  
• He Grabbed Up a Big Stick 59
  

HAZEL SQUIRREL

IN SQUIRREL TOWN

In a twinkling he had jumped out of bed and pressed his furry little nose against the window pane. Little Hazel was playing far out on a leafy branch with one eye on Bushy-Tail’s house, nestled in a forked limb close to the trunk. She waved her lovely gray tail when she saw him and began chattering very fast.

“Wait a minute,” Bushy-Tail called back, “I’ll be down in a jiffy.”

And he was in such a hurry that he tied his tie on sideways and brushed his furry tail the wrong way, which made him look very funny. He even forgot to take a bite of the nice breakfast his mother had left on the table for him. Right through the window he bounded, instead of walking through the door as he had been taught to do, and landed close beside Hazel, far out on the leafy bough.

“Oh, Hazel,” he cried, “I’ve had the loveliest dream!”

“You old sleepy-head,” she answered, “you lay abed dreaming when you might be out playing in the fresh air.”

“Hazel,” Bushy-Tail began, teetering up and down on the branch in his excitement, “I’m sick of peanuts, aren’t you?”

“No,” she answered, “I love them. Mother says they make my coat thick and sleek.”

They were city squirrels, you know, who lived in a park and had their daily supply of peanuts left at their door by the park-keeper.

“No, I am not sick of peanuts,” she continued. “But what has that to do with your dream?”

“Everything,” he went on. “Oh, Hazel, I dreamed of a most wonderful tree where all kinds of nuts—hickory, walnuts, chestnuts and hazel-nuts—grew side by side on the same branch. We must hurry and get there before they are all gone,” and he jumped up so quickly that Hazel went spinning round and round the branch she was holding on to with her sharp little claws.

Now, Hazel was a good little squirrel who always talked things over with her mother, so as they were hurrying away across the park she suddenly stopped. “I forgot to tell mother where I was going,” she said.

Her play-fellow grabbed her by the tail. “It’s to be a surprise,” he whispered. “We will make little baskets of dry twigs and carry home enough for everybody.” This sounded fine.

The pink in the sky was by now beginning to fade. Presently Mr. Sun poked his head over the hilltops far away. He saw the runaway children and he thought to give them a scare that would send them home. So he bounded out from behind a cloud and sent a long, dark shadow right across the path in front of them.

“Oh, my,” cried Hazel, “what’s that?”

Both children were so startled they jumped straight up in the air and landed on the other side of the dark shadow.

“Let’s go home,” suggested Hazel, but when they turned to go they saw their own shadows and of course they knew them. How they laughed then, for who would think of being afraid of a lifeless shadow?

By and by they met a workman. He had a dinner-pail in his hand and in his pockets peanuts for the squirrels, for every morning and night he passed through the park. Now, the good citizens of the town had made laws that no one should harm a squirrel and the squirrels knew this. So Hazel and Bushy-Tail were not afraid of the workman and when he knelt down and held out some nuts to them, they ran right up to him, chattering all the while.

Bushy-Tail took one of the nuts, cracked it with his teeth and, holding it with both hands, ate very greedily. For, you see, the sight of the nuts reminded him he had not eaten any breakfast, and suddenly he became very hungry.

Hazel was not a bit hungry, so she put the nut in the pocket of one of her cheeks, which made her look as if she had the mumps. Then she ran up the workman’s arm and perched on his shoulder, where her soft, bushy tail brushed against his ears and tickled him in the neck.

Poor little Hazel Squirrel. Little did she think the wonderful tree they were looking for was only a dream-tree. But how was she to know that all kinds of nuts never did, nor ever can grow side by side on the same branch, save only in the wonderland we enter through the gates of sleep.

“I don’t see your wonderful tree anywhere, Bushy-Tail,” she said.

“I think it’s down this way a little,” he answered. And once more they scampered off together, chattering and waving their lovely tails.

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HAZEL AND BUSHY-TAIL VISIT
STRANGE LANDS

Bushy-Tail gave a startled little cry and jumped down off the wall, Hazel following close behind. The little girls jumped up and ran, too. They wanted to do something to help if they could. But the squirrels ran up the opposite side of a maple and were soon out of sight. Bushy-Tail was not waving his tail so proudly now. It was hurting terribly. Hazel took her blue-bordered handkerchief out and wrapped it around the hurt place as best she could.

“Oh, Bushy-Tail,” she sobbed, “how I wish my mother were here. She would know just what to do for you,” and great tears began to roll down her cheeks.

It made Bushy-Tail feel so badly to see his little playmate unhappy that for the minute he forgot all about his sore tail. He put his arms around her soft neck and wiped the tears away with his little red-bordered handkerchief.

“Perhaps we had better go home,” he whispered in her ear. You see, he had forgotten about his dream-tree now. So they scrambled down the tree trunk again and then it suddenly dawned on them that they had no idea where they were or in which direction the park lay.

They asked a sparrow, but she did not deign to answer them. They asked a robin, but she was hurrying home with a worm in her mouth and could only mumble something which sounded like “yeast.” They asked a pussy-cat and she said if they would come home with her first she would look it up in a book she had there. But Hazel did not want to go. “For,” she whispered to Bushy-Tail, “she has eyes like a witch.”

So they ran on a little farther until they came to a hat lying upside down on the ground. It was warm and soft inside and Hazel thought it would be a good place for a little rest. She was beginning to feel very tired. Bushy-Tail had lost the handkerchief off his tail, too, and it was hurting again. So the two little squirrels rolled themselves up into two dear, little balls and Hazel spread her lovely tail over them to keep the wind off, and before you could say “Jack Robinson” they were both sound asleep.

When Mr. Smith came back after his hat you can imagine how surprised he was to find it had a new fur lining. “How I wish Alice could see them,” he thought. Then, very carefully, so as not to frighten them, he spread his coat over them and started for home with a queer shaped bundle in his arms.

“Guess what I have,” he cried as his little girl ran to the door to meet him.

“Ice cream,” she screamed.

“Guess again!”

“Kittens.”

“You’re warmer,” he said, “but not right yet.”

Then, as he carefully lifted up his coat, “baby squirrel,” she cried, and clapped her hands and jumped up and down for joy.

Of course the ride had awakened the squirrels. They were still more frightened to be in this strange house with strange people standing around looking at them. They huddled very close together inside the hat and would not eat the nuts Alice brought them. Have you ever been so scared you could not eat?

“Don’t you think they would be more comfortable in a regular bed?” Alice asked her father and he agreed heartily.

So she ran and got her doll’s cradle and tucked them in carefully between the white sheets and rocked them just a little, so they would think they were in the branches of a tree and feel more at home. Alice’s mother had to remind her several times it was her bed-time, too, she did so hate to leave her dear little play-fellows.

By and by Mother Moon looked in at the window. Quick as a flash both squirrels jumped out of the cradle and ran to ask her the shortest way home. They found the window just a little open. You can imagine they did not stop to say good-bye to Alice or think to thank her for the supper they had not eaten.

Outside everything looked very strange and unreal. They had never been out alone at night before. Do you know why everything looks so different at night, even though it is most as light as day? It is because the shadows the moon makes are blacker and each one seems to hide something alive.

Hazel and Bushy-Tail ran as fast as their little legs could carry them. They were too scared to even ask Mrs. Moon the shortest way home. Presently it began to rain and Mrs. Moon went inside to get out of the wet. Two little streams of tears began to roll down Hazel’s cheeks. If you have never been home-sick, you have no way of knowing how unhappy these poor, little, lost squirrels were. It is a much worse pain than cutting one’s finger. Something hurt Bushy-Tail inside so much he wanted to cry, too. But he had to be brave and try and comfort little Hazel. Besides, they had only one handkerchief now. You remember Hazel had tied hers around his sore tail and he had lost it.

Presently they came to the edge of a woods. But Hazel would not venture in. She was afraid some robin would think they were the “babes in the woods” and cover them with leaves. “Such queer things are happening to us now,” she said.

Mr. Bat was passing by and he saw them huddled together between the rails of a fence. Thinking they were the lost children of his neighbor, Mrs. Squirrel, he hurried off to tell her.

Now, only the week before two of this poor lady’s little ones had got caught in a trap. She had scolded, coaxed and begged the farmer’s boys not to carry them off, but they had paid no attention to her. And when Mr. Bat told her what he had seen she jumped right out of bed and ran down the tree without stopping to take an umbrella or put on her rubbers even.

Of course she was disappointed when she saw only Hazel and Bushy-Tail!

“They are city squirrels,” she told Mr. Bat. “We have only red ones here in the woods. I can’t imagine how these little squirrels got so far from home alone.”

“How worried their mothers must be,” she thought to herself and that settled it. She took them by the shoulders and shook them very gently and when they opened their eyes and saw the fire-fly and Mr. Bat and Mrs. Red Squirrel, for just a moment they thought they were dreaming.

But when Mrs. Red Squirrel questioned them, all she could make out between their sobs was that they were lost and wanted to go home.

“You poor, dear little things,” she said, hugging them in her soft arms, “come home with me to-night and we will help you find your mothers in the morning.”

I can tell you it seemed good to the little runaways to be among kind friends again, and when Mrs. Squirrel saw four little squirrels all curled up together in her house, she was most as happy as if they had been four red ones, instead of two red and two gray.

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MRS. SCREECH OWL

Even their breakfast was different. They had country beetles; nice, white mushrooms, and crisp, fresh apple seeds. And after they had eaten and eaten, Mrs. Red Squirrel asked her little guests many questions—what their names were, where they lived, and how ever did they get so far from home?

How the two little squirrels’ eyes popped out as Bushy-Tail told them of their home in the park, built for them out of boards and nails. He told how the caretaker came around every morning with a cup on a long pole and left a fresh supply of peanuts on their back porch, and he told of the wonderful dream he had had about a tree where all kinds of nuts grew side by side on the same branch. “I was so tired of peanuts,” he added, “I set out to find the tree—but somehow—got—lost,” and then his voice became so shaky he couldn’t tell any more.

Mother Red Squirrel helped him to another fat beetle and said as soon as she had her work done she would see what she could do about it. “So many of the wood folks are moving south for the winter,” she said. “I am sure I can find someone who will be going your way.”

Now, Mrs. Screech Owl had seen Mrs. Red Squirrel hurry through the rain the night before with neither umbrella nor rubbers. So she said to herself, “This looks very queer. I will wait opposite the squirrel house, for I must know all.”

And presently the entire woods was awakened by Mrs. Screech Owl’s shrill voice calling, “Extra, extra! Mrs. Red Squirrel has city cousins visiting her.” Of course this was not true. But “extras” seldom are accurate.

Anyway, Mrs. Red Squirrel thought she never would get her work done. You would not believe me if I should tell you how many times the door bell rang. First her neighbor on one side dropped in to borrow a pattern. Then a neighbor on the other side came over to return a book. Then friends from all over the woods just happened by, and always after a second or two they would say, “I hear you have company from the city.”

And then Mother Red Squirrel would have to stop work and tell all about it. But the worst of it was nobody knew the way back to the park.

Pretty soon Mother Red Squirrel had an idea. “Mr. Bat is a great traveler,” she said, “even if he does go to places only at night, I’ll ask him.” Now, nobody likes to be waked out of a sound sleep to be asked questions. Mr. Bat blinked his eyes very hard, though by that time the sun was too bright for him to see a thing, and at first he said he didn’t know the way either. Then Mrs. Red Squirrel flattered him a little and told how she had asked everybody the way to the park and nobody knew. “I felt sure you’d know,” she added, at which Mr. Bat remembered he did and promised to take the little runaways home, just as soon as it should be dark enough!

When Bushy-Tail and Hazel learned that they were going home that night, they jumped up and down for joy. I forgot to tell you Mrs. Red Squirrel’s two children were called Pinky and Rusty. They were such lively, frolicsome children that you just couldn’t help but laugh to see them, and pretty soon Bushy-Tail and Hazel had forgotten all about how their parents must be worrying.

“How would it be if we all went on a picnic today?” asked Mother Red Squirrel. “I know where there are hazel nuts.” I need not tell you what they answered. So she gave them each a little basket and took two herself and whisk—they were springing through the air, leaping from the ends of teetering branches or spinning along the tops of fences in a jiffy.

By and by they came to a lot of bushes and Mrs. Red Squirrel put down her basket “Let’s not stop here,” cried Bushy-Tail. “See, the burs don’t open a bit, they are much too green to eat.”

But Mrs. Red Squirrel said, “If we wait for the wind to rattle them out for us, chipmunks and children from over the hill will not leave us one. If we even wait until the burs open, crows and jays will carry them off.”

Then she showed them how to cut off the little clusters of burs and soon they had their baskets full. What fun that picnic was. There were so many new things to see in that woods. Bushy-Tail kept crying, “Oh, look here, Hazel,” and she was kept busy calling, “Come quick, Bushy-Tail.”

Bushy-Tail had one eye open for the wonderful tree where all kinds of nuts grew side by side on the same branch. He could remember just how it looked in his dream, so he felt sure he would know it the minute he espied it. “If there isn’t one in this wonderful woods,” he was beginning to think, “I don’t believe there is one anywhere.”

All of a sudden Hazel and Bushy-Tail heard their little play-fellows give a scared little cry. They looked around quickly, but could see nothing to be frightened at—only a man carrying a heavy black stick against his shoulder. He kept stealing up nearer, and Hazel and Bushy-Tail kept very still watching him.

“I think he has some peanuts for us,” said Hazel Squirrel.

“What do we want of peanuts now, come on,” said Bushy-Tail, and they ran around the trunk of the tree. Just then a terrifying “whiz” went past their ears followed by a deafening “bang.” They were so frightened they ran and ran, and did not stop until they were all out of breath.

It was the only time they ever had even seen a man with a gun. After that they never took nuts from men carrying sticks.

That afternoon Mrs. Red Squirrel made Hazel and Bushy-Tail take a little nap. “You know you will be up late to-night,” she said. Mr. Bat had not forgotten his promise and just as soon as it began to get dark he was knocking at the door. He said there would be a moon, so they need not bother a fire-fly to go too.

Mrs. Red Squirrel and her two children went as far as the edge of the woods with them. “Now you know the way you must come often,” they called after Bushy-Tail and Hazel. “Don’t forget to come and see us, too, and thank you for the nice time,” they called back. You see, they had been well trained and did not forget their manners.

“I think I should like to live in the park,” said Rusty to his mother. “Bushy says there are no traps there or bad men with guns.” Mrs. Red Squirrel was thinking she would like to have her groceries delivered, too, so she answered, “I think I shall speak to your father about it to-night.”

When Bushy-Tail and little Hazel Squirrel finally reached the edge of the park it was very late and they were very tired indeed. But when they got within sight of their homes and saw the lights in the windows they began to run again anyway.

Do you think their mothers were glad to see them once more? Well, was your mother glad to see you that day she thought you were lost, when you really were not? And if you still want to know if Bushy-Tail ever found the wonderful tree where all kinds of nuts grew side by side on the same branch, all I can tell you is that they never found it in the park and that they never ran away again.

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THE RACCOON AND THE BEES

It was some minutes before he could find out what they were doing, but at last he discovered that they had found a bumble-bees’ nest. They had long paddles in their hands and were running around, yelling, and waving the paddles frantically. Occasionally one of the boys screamed, and then several of the others would run toward him, all beating the air with their paddles.

Coonie watched very closely and saw one boy run up to the hive, give it a quick poke, and then scamper away. With every poke at the hive, a number of bees would fly out of the opening and sail away on the air.

Finally a small boy approached the hive and gave it a hard poke. Instantly about a dozen bees swarmed out, and the boy started to run. He had gone but half a dozen feet, however, when he tripped and fell, and by the way he rolled and kicked, it was plain to be seen that the bees were getting the better of him.

It was great fun watching them, and Coonie decided that he would get a nearer view, so he crawled down the tree in a hurry and ran to the big oak at the edge of the field. From there he could get a full view of the battle. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the fun he was having all by himself.

The battle between the boys and the bees was raging furiously by this time. The boys charged time after time, and with each attack became bolder and bolder, until finally Coonie saw that they were winning. The plucky little bees fought bravely to defend their home, but the boys were too strong for them, and one by one they fell and were crushed or beaten to pieces with the paddles.

After two or three pokes at the hive to make sure that none of the bees remained, a great shout went up from the boys who surrounded the deserted nest.

Children, have you ever seen a wild bees’ nest—a real bumble-bees’ home?

They are nearly always built on the ground, and are made of little pieces of grass piled and woven together into a little mound. At the very top there is a small hole which is used as the doorway through which the bees enter. The wall is not very thick, but is put together tightly so the wind will not blow it away, and it is hollow.

It is in this mound that the bees store their honey for the winter. During the warm summer days they work hard, carrying tiny drops of honey which they gather from the flowers and storing it so they will have something to eat during the cold weather.

When the cold winds come, in the fall and winter, and the flowers are dead, the little workers stop their labor and gather together in the home they have been preparing all summer. When the snow comes, the little grass storehouse is buried snug and warm underneath the white blanket.

It was just such a nest as this that Coonie watched the boys robbing of its treasure. Poor little bees! All their hard work had been in vain, and they had even lost their little lives in the brave effort to protect their winter’s food supply.

But even from his hiding place Coonie could see that the boys had not won the battle without some losses. Big lumps were beginning to swell up on their faces and arms, and the little boy who had tripped and fallen could hardly see because his eyes were nearly swollen shut.

The boys tore away the mound and took out the honey, layer by layer, and squeezed out the golden syrup. Just as they were licking the last drops from their sticky fingers, Coonie saw a man walking towards them. When he was near enough, he began talking to them in an angry way.

“Why, Mr. Jones,” Coonie heard one boy say, “you don’t use bumble-bees’ honey, do you?”

“No, boys, I don’t use the honey myself, but I don’t want you to kill the bees or rob their nests so they will have to starve. Bees do a great deal of good on the farm.”

“What good are bumble-bees?” one of the boys asked.

“Why, they do a lot of good. They distribute the pollen from the heads of the clover, and that makes the seed mature and develop.”

This was news to Coonie, for he never knew before that bumble-bees were of any use, but then he had never had much to do with them. One day when he was playing he had caught a bee in his little paws and had received a sting, and he never forgot how sore his paws were and how they swelled so that he was unable to climb for several days. Since that time he had always made it a practice to move away when a bee came too close.

After the boys were gone and Farmer Jones had gone back to his house, Coonie decided that he would go over to the field and see what the inside of the bees’ nest looked like.

As he approached the field where the battle had taken place, much to his surprise, he saw his friend Woodchuck snooping around among the ruins. When Coonie reached him, he sat up on his hind feet and began licking his paws.

“Hello, Chuck,” Coonie said. “What are you doing? Why, your face is a sight. My, such a dirty face. Why, Chuck, I am surprised,” and he noticed the greedy look in Chuck’s eyes.

“Yum! yum!” was the only reply he received and Chuck began picking around in the grass.

“I say, Chuck,” Coonie said again, “what are you doing?”

“Doing?” echoed Chuck. “Why, this is the best food I have had for a long time, Coonie. My face may be a little sticky, but it can be washed, so I don’t care. Such a treat as I have had! I am sorry you missed it all. I saw some boys capering and scampering around here this afternoon, and as soon as they left I came over to see what it was all about, and this is what I found,” and Chuck held up a small yellow pod. “Just taste one, Coonie, it is sweeter than any berry I ever tasted. Yum, yum, but it is fine.”

“Hum!” sniffed Coonie. “It may suit your taste, but honey is much too sticky for me.”

“Well, I’m glad you don’t want any,” Chuck replied. “You always were rather particular, but I am only Chuck anyhow, and as some people call me a hog—a ground-hog, you know—I might as well live up to my name.”

“But, Chuck, just go down to the brook and look at your face.”

Chuck, seeing that his supply of sweets was exhausted, did as Coonie suggested and waddled toward the brook, Coonie accompanying him.

As Chuck was washing his face and paws, Coonie remarked that he knew where there was plenty of the kind of honey Chuck had been feasting on. “Only,” he added, “it is much cleaner than what you have been eating.”

“Oh, Coonie, tell me where it is, won’t you, please?” cried Chuck, stopping his toilet and catching up Coonie’s paw. “I just dearly love it, and I’ll be your lifelong friend if you will tell me where it is so I can get some more.”

Now Coonie felt very mischievous, and he thought of a plan that would give him some fun.

“Why, Chuck,” he replied, “you would not expect me to tell you where all this honey is, would you? You would go eat it all up in one night. You are such a ‘hoggie’ you know.”

“Oh, be a good friend, Coonie, and tell me. If you only knew how badly I want some more.”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Coonie said, “but there may be some danger in getting it.”

“I’ll never stop for the danger,” Chuck boasted.

“You remember Farmer Jones, don’t you?”

“I should say I do. I’ll never forget the whole family. Do you remember the time we were caught stealing the corn in his crib last fall? And, oh, that fierce dog! Indeed, I never will forget him. If it is Farmer Jones’ honey, it is perfectly safe, for it makes me shiver to even think of that dog, Jack.”

“Oh, I knew that you would be afraid,” taunted Coonie. “Tomorrow is Saturday, and the Jones always go to town on Saturday. I have been planning to go over and give myself a little treat.”

“But, Coonie, how about the dog?”

“Oh, he goes to town with them. I have watched them from the tree where I live, and they never miss going on Saturday afternoons, and taking the dog with them.”

“But how do you know where the honey is, Coonie?”

“How? Why, I have often sampled it.”

Now Coonie told a falsehood when he said he had eaten some of the honey, but he was anxious to have some fun, and so he resorted to a falsehood in order to carry out his plans. This plan never pays, as you will see later.

“Have you really sampled it, Coonie?” Chuck asked. “And is it good, and is it very hard to get?”

Chuck was all excitement, for he could not get rid of the memory of the taste of the honey he had just been eating.

“‘Hard to get?’” repeated Coonie. “Why, Chuck, there are great piles of it, and knowing the grounds as I do, it will be easy to get it. Now you meet me tomorrow and I’ll take you over with me. Meet me by the big oak tree in the corner of the woods, just after noon tomorrow. I must leave you now, because I am going fishing to-night with some of the other coons that live near me. Good-bye until tomorrow,” and Coonie went away with a chuckle.