The track of the red squirrel may be known by its smaller size. He
is more common and less dignified than the gray, and oftener guilty
of petty larceny about the barns and grain-fields. He is most
abundant in old barkpeelings, and low, dilapidated hemlocks, from
which he makes excursions to the fields and orchards, spinning along
the tops of the fences, which afford not only convenient lines of
communication, but a safe retreat if danger threatens. He loves to
linger about the orchard; and, sitting upright on the topmost stone
in the wall, or on the tallest stake in the fence, chipping up an
apple for the seeds, his tail conforming to the curve of his back,
his paws shifting and turning the apple, he is a pretty sight, and
his bright, pert appearance atones for all the mischief he does. At
home, in the woods, he is the most frolicsome and loquacious. The
appearance of anything unusual, if, after contemplating it a moment,
he concludes it not dangerous, excites his unbounded mirth and
ridicule, and he snickers and chatters, hardly able to contain
himself; now darting up the trunk of a tree and squealing in
derision, then hopping into position on a limb and dancing to the
music of his own cackle, and all for your special benefit.

There is something very human in this apparent mirth and mockery of
the squirrels. It seems to be a sort of ironical laughter, and
implies self-conscious pride and exultation in the laugher. "What a
ridiculous thing you are, to be sure!" he seems to say; "how clumsy
and awkward, and what a poor show for a tail! Look at me, look at
me!"--and he capers about in his best style. Again, he would seem to
tease you and provoke your attention; then suddenly assumes a tone
of good-natured, childlike defiance and derision. That pretty little
imp, the chipmunk, will sit on the stone above his den and defy you,