E-text prepared by Roger Frank
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net/)

Copyright, 1915, by A. S. BAILEY

Contents

Frisky Squirrel was a lively little chap. And he was very bold, too. You see, he was so nimble that he felt he could always jump right out of danger—no matter whether it was a hawk chasing him, or a fox springing at him, or a boy throwing stones at him. He would chatter and scold at his enemies from some tree-top. And it was seldom that he was so frightened that he ran home and hid inside his mother’s house.

Mrs. Squirrel’s house was in a hollow limb of a hickory tree. It was a very convenient place to live; for although the tree was old, it still bore nuts. And it is very pleasant to be able to step out of your house and find your dinner all ready for you—simply waiting to be picked.

Of course, Frisky Squirrel and his mother couldn’t find their dinner on the tree the whole year ’round—because it was only in the fall that there were nuts on it. But luckily there were other things to eat—such as seeds, of which there were many kinds in the woods. And then there was Farmer Green’s wheat—and his corn, too, which Frisky liked most of all.

The woods where Mrs. Squirrel and her son lived were full of the finest trees to climb that anybody could wish for. And Frisky loved to go leaping from branch to branch, and from tree to tree. He was so fearless that he would scamper far out on the ends of the smallest limbs. But no matter how much they bent and swayed beneath his weight, he was never afraid; in fact, that was part of the fun.

As she watched Frisky whisking about among the trees, now swinging on this branch, now leaping far out to that one, Mrs. Squirrel sometimes wondered how he could keep dashing about so madly. Though the old lady was pretty spry, herself, she was content to sit still some of the time. But Frisky Squirrel was almost never still except when he was asleep. There was so much to do! Frisky wished that the days were longer, for though he tried his hardest, he couldn’t climb all the trees in the forest. Each night he had to give up his task, only to begin all over again the next morning. If there had been nothing to do but climb the trees Frisky would have been able to climb more of them. But there were other things that took time.

There were the birds, for instance. Frisky simply had to tease them. Perhaps it was just because he was so full of fun—or mischief, as it is sometimes called. Anyhow, he delighted in visiting their nests; and chasing them; and scolding at them. And it was not always the littlest birds, either, that Frisky teased. There was that loud-mouthed fellow, Jasper Jay, the biggest blue jay in the whole neighborhood. Frisky liked nothing better than bothering Jasper Jay—for Jasper always lost his temper and flew straight at Frisky. And then would follow the finest sport of all.

But a time came at last when Frisky teased Jasper Jay almost once too often, though that is another story.

One day Frisky Squirrel came upon Jasper Jay’s nest when Jasper and his wife were both away from home. And Frisky simply couldn’t resist tearing a few twigs out of it. He had not done much damage, however, before Mrs. Jay returned. When she saw what was happening she screamed loudly for her husband. And soon Jasper came flying up as fast as he could come. He made a noise exactly like a red-tailed hawk; but he did not frighten Frisky at all, for Frisky knew all of Jasper’s tricks. Jasper Jay was always trying to scare people by calling like bigger birds—such as red-shouldered hawks, and red-tailed hawks, and sparrow hawks.

When Frisky heard him calling he just laughed and skipped up the trunk of the tree, with Jasper and his wife chasing him. Now, with Jasper and Mrs. Jay both flying at him, Frisky had to be sprier than ever. But he was not afraid. He never thought of danger at all. And he ran down the thick tree-trunk like a flash and bounded across the ground and tore up the tree where he and his mother lived.

“I’ll peck your eyes out!” Jasper shouted, as he followed close behind Frisky. Now, no matter how bold one may be, it is not pleasant to hear a thing like that said. And it made Frisky hurry a little faster.

“I’ll peck his tongue out!” screamed Mrs. Jay. And somehow it disturbed Frisky the least bit to hear Jasper’s wife say that. He decided that he would go home at once. And he gave a great spring toward the hollow limb where he lived.

Then something happened that was a great surprise to Frisky Squirrel. He was right in the middle of his leap when Jasper struck him with a wing. The blow did not hurt Frisky. But it sent him tumbling. He missed the hollow limb, and down he went, head over heels, toward the ground.

Even while he was falling, Frisky Squirrel laughed. You see, he thought it was a good joke on himself. And being a merry little fellow, he was always ready to laugh when anybody played a joke on him. As for the fall, that did not trouble him at all. He knew that he could land on his feet.

It was after he had lighted upon the ground that Frisky was really frightened. For when he looked up, whom should he see but Tommy Fox, not three jumps away! And Tommy Fox was smiling in the most horrid fashion, as if to say—“Ah! I’ve got you now, my fine fellow!” And then Tommy Fox leaped.

But quick as Tommy was, Frisky Squirrel was even quicker. While Tommy was making one big leap, Frisky was making three smaller leaps. And when Tommy came down on the spot where Frisky had been he found nothing but a heap of dry leaves beneath his paws; and in a moment more Frisky Squirrel’s gray tail was disappearing through the doorway of his mother’s house.

It was very unlucky for Tommy Fox; but then, one might say that it was very lucky for Frisky Squirrel.

One day Frisky Squirrel was playing in the woods when he came upon a chestnut bur which had lain upon the ground all winter. And in a twinkling Frisky had picked the nut from inside it and popped it into his mouth. Then he started home to show his mother what he had found.

But on the way home Frisky began to feel hungry. Just carrying that nut inside his cheek was a little more than he could stand. And he decided that he would eat the nut at once, and tell his mother about it, instead of showing it to her.

So Frisky hopped up on the top of a broad, flat rock. And sitting down right in the center of it, he began to gnaw at the chestnut. He was so busy and so interested in what he was doing that before he knew it the rock began to move. It moved so slowly that it was not until it started to climb a little hummock, and nearly tipped Frisky over on his back, that he noticed what was happening.

At first Frisky thought he must be dreaming. He nipped himself with his sharp teeth to make sure that he was awake. And when he saw that the rock was really walking right away with him he forgot all about eating the chestnut. He let it fall out of his paws and roll away; for he had never seen a rock move like that before.

It was very exciting, though Frisky had never traveled so slowly before. You see, whenever he went anywhere he always hurried as if he had the most important business to attend to. But it was quite different with that rock. It crawled along just as if it didn’t care whether it ever got anywhere or not.

For a long time Frisky clung there. Now and then he almost slipped off as the rock tilted. But it never tipped quite over; and Frisky managed to stick on. And then, at last, he decided that he had better hop off onto the ground, for he noticed that the rock was moving straight toward the river. It went down the bank at a faster pace. And Frisky leaped off just in time to escape a wetting, for the next moment the rock dropped splash! into the water.

Frisky Squirrel waited on the shore and watched it, with eyes wide open with astonishment. He had expected to see it sink to the bottom of the river. But the rock swam away as easily as you please. That was the strangest part of it all—a rock which could not only walk, but could swim as well!

Frisky turned about and ran for home as fast as he could jump. This time he certainly did have important business. He had such a strange thing to tell his mother! He reached home quite out of breath. And as soon as he could, he told Mrs. Squirrel what he had seen.

That good lady did not know what to think. She had always found her son to be truthful. But this was certainly a queer story. She lay awake a long time that night thinking about the matter. And early the next morning she took Frisky and set out for Swift River. Frisky led her to the very spot where the stone had swum away.

“There it is! There it is now!” he cried, as they paused upon the bank and he pointed down toward the water’s edge.

When Mrs. Squirrel saw what Frisky was pointing at she no longer wondered.

“It’s a mud turtle!” she exclaimed. “You had a ride on a mud turtle and you never knew it.” She smiled, because she was amused; and because she was happy, too. For she knew that Frisky had told the truth.

It was a fine spring day—so pleasant that the children from the little red schoolhouse over the hill came to the woods where Frisky Squirrel lived. They came for the first picnic of the season, and such a noise as they made had never been heard in those woods before.

Frisky Squirrel was frightened at first. But at last he grew accustomed to the uproar, and he crept out on the limb where he lived—not too far away from the door—and looked down and watched the fun.

He was enjoying the picnic quite as much as the merry-makers themselves—until a boy spied him. And then several boys began to throw acorns at him. Frisky did not like that so well; and he hid in a crotch of the tree where he could not be seen from below, until the boys forgot all about him.

When the picnickers went away, Frisky lost no time. He slipped down the tree in a hurry. You see, he had seen the children eating their lunch and he hoped he would be able to find some tidbit which they had left behind them.

Sure enough! there was a feast waiting for him. He was not the only one who was there to enjoy it. For there were three ruffianly red squirrels and a half-dozen chipmunks who appeared on the spot as if by magic.

This second picnic soon came to an end, for the dainties did not last long. But what Frisky found, he enjoyed very much. Most of all he liked a bit of something that was covered with a white coating, which looked a good deal like snow. But it did not taste like snow at all; it was as sweet as sweet could be!

Rusty Red-squirrel found a piece of the same dainty, and he explained to Frisky that it was called “cake.”

“I ate some once at Farmer Green’s house,” he said. “Farmer Green’s wife makes it.” And Frisky decided on the spot that he would pay a visit to the farmhouse. It was too late to go that day. But the next morning Frisky set out for Farmer Green’s house.

In the distance he could see white smoke curling from the red chimney. And though he did not know it, that meant that it was baking-day, and Farmer Green’s wife was just as busy as she could be, making good things for her hungry family.

When Frisky Squirrel reached the farmhouse he found the kitchen window wide open. And after making sure that there was no one inside the room, he stole in and jumped up on a shelf where there was a row of dishes with all sorts of tempting things on them.

To Frisky’s joy, he found a whole cake exactly like the bit he had discovered in the woods. And he ate all he wanted; there seemed to be no reason why he shouldn’t, there was so much of it.

And then a door slammed somewhere. The noise startled Frisky Squirrel and he fell right off the shelf, backwards, and landed plump in the flour-barrel.

He was nearly smothered. And he was frightened, too. But he managed to scramble out again. And you should have seen the white streak that went shooting across the kitchen floor, out the door, and away. It was Frisky Squirrel, of course, covered with flour. He never stopped running until he was half-way home. And then he climbed a tree and sat down to lick himself clean again. To his astonishment, he found that the white powder that covered him tasted very good. It reminded him of wheat. And that is not surprising, since the flour was made of wheat which Farmer Green had grown in his own fields, and which had been ground into flour by the miller who lived further up Swift River.

Though the flour tasted good, Frisky did not like it as well as the cake. He wished he had been covered with that sweet, snowlike frosting.

Frisky Squirrel was having his usual fun, leaping through the tree-tops. He went skipping and scrambling among the boughs as if a hundred jays were after him. But they were only make-believe enemies. And after a while Frisky grew tired of playing all alone. He wished he could find Jasper Jay again. He would have liked to tease the rude fellow, until Jasper chased him.

As Frisky paused for a moment to catch his breath he heard a long-drawn, squealing whistle, somewhat like the sound of escaping steam.

“There’s Jasper Jay right now!” he exclaimed. “And he’s trying to make people think he’s a red-tailed hawk. But he can’t fool me that way. I’ll just go and find him. And then maybe I won’t tease him!”

Frisky started toward the place where he had heard that whistle. He called to Jasper Jay; but there was no answer. Nor did he hear the whistle again. He hunted all around; but no Jasper Jay could he find. And he was just going to give up the search when there was a sudden rush through the air.

Frisky dodged just in time; and a big body, grayish-brown, with a rusty-red tail, went tearing past him. He had been mistaken. It wasn’t Jasper Jay he had heard whistling, but this fierce red-tailed hawk. Here was even more fun than Frisky had hoped for!

As soon as Mr. Hawk could stop his swift flight he turned and came back again. And there followed the liveliest sort of dodging for Frisky Squirrel. It was well for him that he had had plenty of practice all the spring, or I am afraid he would never have escaped.

He was not afraid. And now and then he laughed at Mr. Hawk. And now and then he shouted “Robber!” at him, and “Thief!” And he asked him how many of Farmer Green’s chickens he had stolen lately.

But Mr. Hawk never once answered—except to whistle sometimes as he went sailing past. He paid strict attention to what he was doing. And he seemed to have no idea of stopping until he got Frisky Squirrel in his claws.

After a while Frisky began to tire of the sport. But not Mr. Hawk! He kept flying back and forth, back and forth, past Frisky. And his cruel eyes glared terribly every time he came near.

“You’d better go along home,” Frisky called to him. “You can never catch me, if you try till snow flies.”

Mr. Hawk lighted on a near-by tree and looked at Frisky. Frisky was a plump little squirrel and Mr. Hawk hated to give him up. But as he thought the matter over he seemed to decide that Frisky was a little too spry for him. And with one more whistle he mounted up above the trees and sailed calmly away.

Frisky Squirrel went home then; and he told his mother what sport he had had, and how Mr. Hawk had at last flown away in despair. “I hope he’ll come back again to-morrow,” said Frisky.

But Mrs. Squirrel shook her head. She wished that Frisky was less daring.

After he escaped from the fierce red-tailed hawk you would naturally think that Frisky Squirrel would have been glad to keep away from such a great, strong enemy. But the very next day found Frisky searching everywhere for that cruel, hook-nosed Mr. Hawk. He wanted more of that fine sport that he had had the day before, dodging and twisting around the limbs of the trees, while Mr. Hawk swooped down and tried to seize him. There was another reason, too, why Frisky wanted to find Mr. Hawk again—and that was because he knew that it annoyed Mr. Hawk very much not to be able to catch him. You see, Frisky Squirrel was a great tease.

Well, as I said, Frisky hunted all through the woods for the red-tailed hawk. But he couldn’t find him. There was a good reason why—and that was because Mr. Hawk was waiting for Frisky in the top of a tree near Mrs. Squirrel’s home. He was waiting and watching—was Mr. Hawk. When Frisky had given up his search and was almost home he heard the smaller birds warning one another of the danger, telling of the savage old fellow who was half-hidden on a high branch of the tall elm. Frisky first heard a flicker calling to a towhee; and the towhee told a robin; and the robin told a little song sparrow that he had better keep out of sight unless he wanted Mr. Hawk to catch him. You may be sure that the little song sparrow was very careful after that. He gave a few chips, just to do his share in warning the other forest-people to look out for the red-tailed hawk; and then he crept into a thicket and kept just as still as a mouse.

When Frisky heard the news—for he knew what the birds were telling one another—he hurried along joyfully. He was not afraid of Mr. Hawk. Mr. Hawk was the very person he was looking for.

“Hello, you old ruffian!” Frisky called, as soon as he spied Mr. Hawk. It certainly was a very impolite thing to say, even if it was true.

Mr. Hawk turned his cruel eyes upon Frisky Squirrel and then he dashed toward him as fast as he knew how. He dropped down like lightning from his high perch, and Frisky had to dodge quickly to escape him; but that was part of the fun.

Frisky Squirrel laughed as Mr. Hawk went sailing by him. And then something happened—something Frisky was not expecting. He heard a rush through the air, and a nervous little wren screamed to him to look out. Frisky didn’t know what the trouble was; but he gave a great leap to one side.

He was just in time. He had hardly left the limb to which he had been clinging when Mr. Hawk’s wife went coursing past. You see, Mr. Hawk had made up his mind that he was going to catch Frisky Squirrel, even if he had to bring Mrs. Hawk along to help him.

It was not long before Frisky Squirrel began to see that he had got himself into something very like a fix. It had been fairly easy to dodge Mr. Hawk alone. But things were quite different now. Mr. Hawk would come hurtling down upon him from one direction; and Mrs. Hawk would swoop down upon him from another. It was all very confusing, because Frisky could not watch both of them at once.

He called to his mother, because he began to be frightened. But Mrs. Squirrel was not at home. Frisky did not know what to do. He tried to reach his home in the big hickory tree near-by; but Mr. and Mrs. Hawk wouldn’t let him go near it. And when he felt one of Mr. Hawk’s sharp talons dig into his back Frisky thought that his end had come. But he escaped that time, though Mrs. Hawk nearly caught him just two seconds later.

I am afraid The Tale of Frisky Squirrel would have ended right here, if somebody had not come to Frisky’s help. Fortunately, there was a small, olive-green bird who lived with his wife not far from Frisky Squirrel’s home. Mr. Kinglet was his name. And though he was a tiny fellow he had a heart like a lion’s. I suppose that in all the country around Blue Mountain there was no braver fellow than he. And his wife was brave too. Although they both wore very dull-colored clothes, if you took a good look at Mr. Kinglet you could see that he always wore a bright red crown. He was very modest about his crown, and generally wore it so that only a little of it showed. But whenever he went out to fight, as the forest-people are often obliged to, that beautiful red crown might be seen as plain as could be.

Now, it happened that Mrs. Kinglet heard Mr. and Mrs. Hawk talking to each other, as they tried to capture Frisky Squirrel, and she heard the other forest-people shouting, too. So she called to Mr. Kinglet that somebody seemed to be in trouble; and he came hurrying up at once.

When the little frightened wren screamed, Mr. Kinglet made up his mind that it was time for him to do something. And he pushed his red crown up on the top of his head where it would show better and he flew straight toward Mr. Hawk.

Mr. Kinglet flew up over Mr. Hawk’s head, and then he darted down and lighted right in the middle of Mr. Hawk’s broad back, and began pecking him as hard as he could with his sharp little bill.

Mr. Hawk stopped trying to catch Frisky. He had all he wanted to do to shake that bold little fellow off his back. And though Mrs. Hawk still swooped down at Frisky Squirrel, brave Mr. Kinglet’s brave little wife began to fly at her so fiercely that Mrs. Hawk couldn’t keep Frisky from reaching the tree where he lived.

He was very glad to get home, you may be sure. And he dived in through the door and was out of sight in no time. But pretty soon he stuck his head out again to see what was happening. Mr. and Mrs. Hawk had vanished. And all the forest-people were thanking Mr. and Mrs. Kinglet for driving them away. Frisky Squirrel thanked them, too. And when he remembered how he had sometimes teased Mrs. Kinglet by visiting her nest he felt very much ashamed, and he promised himself that he would never trouble her again.

One day Frisky Squirrel was looking for something to eat in the woods, when whom should he meet but Uncle Sammy Coon, a good-for-nothing old fellow who lived over in the swamp.

“Well, young man!” said Uncle Sammy, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to find a few seeds to eat,” Frisky explained.

“I know where there’s some corn,” said Uncle Sammy Coon. “It’s last year’s corn, to be sure; but it’s good, just the same.”

“Where is it?” Frisky asked him.

“Hm—” said Uncle Sammy. “If I told you would you get some of it for me? It would be easy for a spry young chap like you to take all you wanted of it. But I’ve a lame knee, you know, and I can’t climb so well as I used to.”

“Of course I’ll get some corn for you,” Frisky promised. “Where is it?”

“I’ll take you to it,” said Uncle Sammy—“this very night.” He was a suspicious old chap—which means that he was afraid that if he told Frisky then, Frisky would go off alone and take what corn he wanted without giving Uncle Sammy any.

“To-night!” Frisky exclaimed. “Oh, I don’t stay out late at night, you know, as you do.” Uncle Sammy Coon was known to keep very late hours.

“Well—right after sundown, then,” the old rascal said. “We’ll meet over by the brook. Don’t tell your mother. It will be a pleasant surprise for her, when you bring home a fine bagful of corn.”

“All right! I’ll be there,” Frisky told him.

And sure enough! Just as the sun sank out of sight that evening, Frisky appeared on the bank of the brook. And he hadn’t told his mother what he was going to do, either.

Pretty soon Uncle Sammy Coon came along. He had an old sack slung over his shoulder and a wide grin on his face.

“Come on, young man!” he said, “and we’ll go over to Farmer Green’s place.”

“Farmer Green’s!” Frisky cried. “I don’t want to go there.” He remembered the fright he had had when he fell into the flour-barrel in Farmer Green’s kitchen.

“You promised,” Uncle Sammy reminded him. “And unless you want something you won’t like nearly so well as corn, you had better march right along with me.”

He was so cross that Frisky Squirrel thought he had better mind him. But Frisky wished he had not come. And he wished he had told his mother what he was going to do, too. But he trotted along with Uncle Sammy—only he was careful not to get too close to the tricky old gentleman, for there was no knowing when Uncle Sammy might suddenly decide that he would rather have a nice, tender, young gray squirrel to eat than all the last year’s corn in the world. You see, the little forest-people have to think of many things—especially when they walk out alone with a person like Uncle Sammy Coon.

When Frisky Squirrel and Uncle Sammy Coon arrived at Farmer Green’s place, the moon was just rising. It wasn’t dark, but Uncle Sammy said that they would have no trouble at all, because Farmer Green’s family would be in the house, eating their evening meal.

“There’s the corn-house,” he said, pointing to an old stone building. “There’s a hole in the wall up there under the roof. All you have to do is to climb that tree, run out on that limb, crawl through the hole, and there you are—inside. Then you can bring the corn up to the hole, drop it out onto the ground, and I’ll stay outside and pick it up and put it in this sack and watch out for old dog Spot.”

“You see,” he went on, “I’ll be doing most of the work, for I’ll be doing three things, while all you’ll have to do will be to drop the corn out of the hole in the wall.... But I don’t mind doing more than my share.”

Frisky Squirrel couldn’t quite understand how Uncle Sammy would be doing most of the work. But since the old gentleman said it was so, Frisky supposed it was the truth. There was one thing, however, that puzzled him still more.

“Have you brought a bag for my share of the corn?” he asked.

“Oh, we’ll divide this bagful,” said Uncle Sammy. “When we get over the hill we’ll sit down and divide it.”

“All right!” said Frisky. And then he hurried up the tree. In no more than a jiffy he was inside the old stone building; and pretty soon the corn began to patter, patter, down upon the ground where Uncle Sammy waited.

Frisky had been working steadily for some time. And he began to wonder if the bag was not full. He thought he would just peep out of the hole in the wall and see. So he stuck his head out. To his surprise, Uncle Sammy had vanished. And as Frisky looked all around he caught sight of Uncle Sammy Coon with the bag of corn on his back, hurrying up the road. For an old gentleman with a lame knee he was going at a very fast pace.

Frisky Squirrel wondered why he had run away. But he didn’t wonder long, for a dog barked; and the bark came from right underneath the hole in the wall. Then Farmer Green came running up the path which led to the corn-house. He had a gun in his hand, too.

Frisky didn’t wait to see anything more. He whisked out of the hole, and climbed the roof, and jumped into another tree on the other side of the corn-house. And soon he too was running like mad along the road—only he was going in exactly the opposite direction to that in which Uncle Sammy had vanished.

He never stopped running until he had reached the woods. And since he could not bring any corn home with him, he thought that there was really no sense in telling his mother anything about his adventure.

The next day, as Frisky was playing in a tree-top, he came across Uncle Sammy Coon sunning himself.

“Where’s my corn?” asked Frisky Squirrel.

“Corn!” Uncle Sammy exclaimed, as if he had forgotten all about such a thing. “Oh! you mean that corn that we got last night. Now, I’m sorry to say that the bag was so heavy I had to drop it, because old dog Spot was after me, you know. And when I went back to get it, later, it wasn’t there.... We’ll have to try again, some other time,” he added.

Frisky Squirrel began to see that the old fellow had tricked him. Uncle Sammy’s sides looked very plump, as if he had had an unusually good meal. And he smiled so pleasantly that Frisky Squirrel became very angry.

“You’ll get your own corn next time,” he snapped. And as he skipped away he heard Uncle Sammy Coon laugh heartily—just as though something had amused him.