Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 16, 2025
A little black fellow, with a bushy tail that spread itself out like a beautiful feathery fan for some six or eight inches at the tip, dropped lightly down in front of Phil. His ebony fur was as fine as thistle-down; Phil was not surprised to hear that his name was "Feathertail." "When are you coming to pay us a visit?" the little creature asked in jealous tones.
I wish I could take him home with me when I go back I s'pose I'll have to go back some day," he finished with a sigh. The mother Squirrel fluffed out her fur in wild alarm, and Feathertail darted forward ready to protect his family. "How could you suggest such a thing?" he asked indignantly, when Phil had managed to convince him that he meant no harm.
Phil laughed to think of his doubts as to whether the branch would bear him; slender as it was it barely stirred beneath his weight. The baby Squirrels were charming little things; he sat in the nest with them, and laughed with glee as the Wind rocked it to and fro, while Feathertail told him how it was only this spring that he had come to these woods.
Even then he looked uneasy when Phil fondled his babies; as to the mother Squirrel, since that unfortunate remark of his, she had been clearly anxious to get rid of him. "We will go to the stream," said Feathertail, when he saw that her anxiety was getting too much for her. Phil longed to ask if the baby Squirrels might come as well, but wisely refrained.
"We find our homes in the woods and heights of North America, and even here we are becoming more rare, for the Red and Grey Squirrels drive us from our haunts, and hunters trap us for our fur." A cry from the bushes the indignant protest of a Scarlet Tanager, that had been robbed by his mate of a fine fat insect made Feathertail dart away. Phil waited in vain for his return.
He was sorry to leave that cosy nest on the waving branch; next time he came, he thought, he would be careful what he said. The stream to which Feathertail led him was bordered by drooping ferns; it was so clear that it might have been a lady's mirror but for the tiny wavelets rippling from side to side. "Don't you hear it singing as it trickles over the stone?" asked Feathertail.
"That's right, now swing yourself round and take hold of the branch above you. So! You're getting on famously. Well done!" Phil knew that it was Nature who spoke to him, and he felt so proud of her praises that he almost forgot the Squirrels. But three small heads, and a larger one, which belonged to a very proud mother, peeped over the nest to welcome him, and Feathertail waited beside it.
Five of these were jet-black, and two were white, tinged with flecks of yellow; the fur on his throat and underneath him was the colour of pure snow, and his forehead flamed with brilliant orange. He seemed on the best of terms with himself and all the world, and his small black eyes were full of fun and humour. "Did Feathertail offer you any breakfast?" he asked, hopping close to Phil. "No."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking