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THE SQUIRRELS THAT LIVE IN A HOUSE
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Once upon a time a gentleman went out into a
great forest, and cut away the trees, and built there
a very nice little cottage. It was set very low on
the ground, and had very large bow-windows, and
so much of it was glass that one could look through
it on every side and see what was going on in the
forest. You could see the shadows of the fern-
leaves, as they flickered and waved over the ground,
and the scarlet partridge-berry and wintergreen plums
that matted round the roots of the trees, and the
bright spots of sunshine that fell through their
branches and went dancing about among the bushes
and leaves at their roots. You could see the little
chipping sparrows, and thrushes, and robins, and
bluebirds building their nests here and there among
the branches, and watch them from day to day as
they laid their eggs and hatched their young. You
could also see red squirrels, and gray squirrels, and
little striped chip-squirrels, darting and springing
about, here and there and everywhere, running races
with each other from bough to bough, and chatter-
ing at each other in the gayest possible manner.
You may be sure that such a strange thing as a
great house for human beings to live in did not
come into this wild wood without making quite a
stir and excitement among the inhabitants that
lived there before. All the time it was building,
there was the greatest possible commotion in the
breasts of all the older population; and there wasn’t
even a black ant or a cricket that did not have
his own opinion about it, and did not tell the other
ants and crickets just what he thought.
“Depend upon it, children,” said old Mrs. Rabbit
to her long-eared family, “no good will come to us
from this. Where man is, there comes always
trouble for us poor rabbits.”
The old chestnut-tree, that grew on the edge of
the woodland ravine, drew a great sigh which shook
all his leaves. The squirrels talked together of
the dreadful state of things.
“In our forest” said the
old chestnut tree, “how
peacefully, how quietly, how
regularly has everything
gone on ! Not a flower has
missed its time of blos-
soming, or failed to perfect
its fruit. Not the least root has lost itself under the
snows, so as not to be ready with its fresh leaves and
blossoms when the sun returns to melt the frosty chains
of winter. We have storms sometimes that threaten to
shake everything to pieces— the thunder roars, the light-
ning flashes, and the winds howl and beat; but,
when all is past, everything comes out better and
brighter than before. But man comes, and it seems
to be his glory to be able to destroy in a few hours
what it was the work of ages to produce. Which
of these dolts could make a tree? I’d like to see
them do anything like it. How noisy and clumsy
are all their movements — chopping, pounding,
rasping, hammering! In the forest we do everything
so quietly. A tree would be ashamed of itself that
could not get its growth without making such a
noise and dust and fuss !”
In spite of all this disquiet about it, the little
cottage grew and was finished. The walls were cov-
ered with pretty paper, the floors carpeted with pretty
carpets; and, in fact, when it was all arranged, and
the garden walks laid out, and beds of flowers planted
around, it began to be confessed, that it was not
after all so bad a thing as was to have been feared.
A black ant went in one day and made a tour
of exploration up and down, over chairs and tables,
up the ceilings and down again, and cortiing out,
wrote an article for the Crickets* Gazette, in which
he described the new abode as a veritable palace.
Several butterflies fluttered in and sailed about and
were wonderfully delighted, and then a bumble-bee
and two or three honey-bees, who expressed them-
selves well pleased with the house, but more espe-
cially with the garden. In fact, when it was found
that the proprietors watched
and spared the anemones, and
the violets, and bloodroots, and
dog’s-tooth violets, and little
woolly rolls of fern that began
to grow up under the trees in
spring — that they never allowed
a gun to be fired to scare the birds, and watched the
building of their nests with the greatest interest — then
an opinion in favor of human beings began to gain
ground, and every cricket and bird and beast was loud
in their praise.
“Mamma,” said young Tit-bit, a frisky young
squirrel, to his mother one day, “why don’t you let
Frisky and me go into that pretty new cottage to
play?”
“My dear,” said his mother, who was a very
wary and careful old squirrel, “how can you think
of it? The race of man are full of devices for traps,
and who could say what might happen, if you put
yourself in their power? If you had wings like the
butterflies and bees, you might fly in and out again;
but, as matters stand, it’s best for you to keep well
out of their way.”
“But mother, there is such a nice, good lady
lives there! I beheve she is a good fairy, and she
seems to love us all so; she sits in the bow-window
and watches us for hours, and she scatters corn all
round at the roots of the trees for us to eat”
“She is nice enough,” said the old mother squirrel,
“if you keep far enough off; but I tell you, you
can’t be too careful.”
Now this good fairy was a nice little old lady
that the children used to call Aunt Esther, and she
was a dear lover of birds and squirrels, and all sorts
of animals, and had studied their little ways till
she knew just what would please them; and so she
would every day throw out crumbs for the sparrows,
and little bits of bread, and wool and cotton to help
the birds that were building their nests, and would
scatter corn and nuts for the squirrels; and, while
she sat at her work in the bow-window, she would
smile to see the birds flying away with the wool,
and the squirrels nibbling their nuts. After a while
the birds grew so tame that they would hop into
the bow-window, and eat their crumbs off the carpet.
“There, mamma,” said Tit-bit and Frisky, “only
see ! Jenny Wren and Cock Robin have been in at
the bow-window, and it didn’t hurt them, and why
can’t we go?”
“Well, my dears,” said old Mother Squirrel, “you
must do it very carefully; never forget that you
haven’t wings like Jenny Wren and Cock Robin.”
So the next day Aunt Esther laid a train of corn
from the roots of the trees to the bow-window, and
then from the bow-window to her work-ba3ket, which
stood on the floor beside her; and then she put
quite a handful of corn in the work-basket, and
sat down by it, and seemed intent on her sewing.
Very soon, creep, creep, creep, came Tit-bit and
Frisky to the window, and then into the room, just
as sly and as still as could be, and Aunt Esther sat
just like a statue for fear of disturbing them. They
looked all around in high glee, and when they
came to the basket it seemed to them a wonderful
little summer-house, made on purpose for them to
play in. They nosed about in it, and turned over
the scissors and the needle-book, and took a nibble
at her white wax, and jostled the spools, meanwhile
stowing away the corn each side of their little chops.
At last Aunt Esther put out her hand to touch
them, when, whisk-frisk, out they went, and up the
trees, chattering and laughing before she had time
even to wink.
But after this they used to come in every day,
and when she put corn in her hand and held it very
still they would eat out of it; and, finally, they
would get into her hand, until one day she gently
closed it over them, and Frisky and Tit-bit were
fairly caught.
O, how their hearts beat ! but the good fairy only
spoke gently to them, and soon unclosed her hand
and let them go again. So, day after day, they
grew to have more and more faith in her, till they
would climb into her work-basket, sit on her shoulder,
or nestle away in her lap as she sat sewing.
“My dear,” said old Mother Red one winter to
her mate, ‘Vhat is the use of one’s living in this
cold, hollow tree, when these amiable people have
erected this pretty cottage where there is plenty of
room for us and them too? Now I have examined
between the eaves, and there is a charming place
where we can store our nuts, and where we can whip
in and out of the garret, and have the free range
of the house; and, say what you will, these humans
have delightful ways of being warm and comfortable
in winter.”
So Mr. and Mrs. Red set up housekeeping in
the cottage, and had no end of nuts and other
good things stored up there. The trouble of all
this was, that, as Mrs. Red got up to begin her
housekeeping, and woke up all her children, at four
o’clock in the morning, the good people often were
disturbed by a great rattling and fuss in the walls
while yet it seemed dark night.
What is to be done about this we don’t know.
When our good people come down of a cold winter
morning, and see the squirrels dancing and frisking
down the trees, and chasing each other so merrily
over the garden-chair between them, or sitting with
their tails saucily over their backs, they look so jolly
and jaunty and pretty that they almost forgive
them for disturbing their night’s rest, and think that
they will not do anything to drive them out of the
garret to-day. And so it goes on; but how long
the squirrels will rent the cottage in this fash-
ion, I’m sure I dare not undertake to say.
— Abridged
