"I think, sometimes, I ought not to
keep my dear squirrel in a cage--shall I let him go?" "My dear, he has now
been so used to the cage, and to have all his daily wants supplied, that I
am sure he would suffer from cold and hunger at this season of the year if
he were left to provide for himself; and if he remained here the cats and
weasels might kill him."
"I will keep him safe from harm, then, till the warm weather comes again;
and then, nurse, we will take him to the mountain, and let him go, if he
likes to be free, among the trees and bushes."
It was now the middle of October; the rainy season that usually comes in
the end of September and beginning of October in Canada was over. The
soft, hazy season, called Indian summer, was come again; the few forest
leaves that yet lingered were ready to fall--bright and beautiful they
still looked, but Lady Mary missed the flowers.
"I do not love the fall--I see no flowers now, except those in the
greenhouse. The cold, cold winter, will soon be here again," she added
sadly.
"Last year, dear lady, you said you loved the white snow, and the
sleighing, and the merry bells, and wished that winter would last all the
year round.
"Ah, yes, nurse; but I did not know how many pretty birds and flowers I
should see in the spring and the summer; and now they are all gone, and I
shall see them no more for a long time.
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