One day Velvet-paw ran up one of the apple-trees and began to eat an
apple; it looked very good, for it had a bright red cheek, but it was
hard and sour, not being ripe. "I do not like these big, sour berries,"
said she, making wry faces as she tried to get the bad taste out of
her mouth by wiping her tongue on her fore-paw. Nimble had found some
ripe currants; so he only laughed at poor Velvet for the trouble she
was in.
These little gray squirrels now led a merry life; they found plenty to eat
and drink, and would not have had a care in the world, if it had not been
for the noisy little dog Pinch, who let them have no quiet, barking and
baying at them whenever he saw them; and also for the watchful eyes of a
great tomcat, who was always prowling about the mill, or creeping round
the orchard and outhouses; so that with all their good food they were not
quite free from causes of fear, and no doubt sometimes wished themselves
safe back on the little rocky island, in their nest in the old oak-tree.
Time passed away--the wheat and the oats were now ripe and fit for the
scythe, for in Canada the settlers mow wheat with an instrument called a
"cradle scythe." The beautiful Indian corn was in bloom, and its long pale
green silken threads were waving in the summer breeze.
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