merely green cups with a dot at the top. But he knows. He bites them
in two, and deftly extracts the acorn, which is in the milky state,
scarcely as large as a pea. He does it in the darkness, but with
amazing rapidity. Speeding from twig to twig, from one cluster of
acorns to another, he cuts the cups in two and extracts the meat so
fast that the pieces rain down on the roof. When he is working at top
speed, he will probably average twenty acorns a minute. In the morning
the roof of the porch is covered with pieces of the husks.

For half an hour after sunset he keeps up this fast speed. Apparently
he is getting supper after his long sleep through the day. At the end
of half an hour he begins to work more leisurely. The pieces fall on
the roof every now and then. Possibly he is taking the sweetmeats to
his hole, high up in a tree. Through the night there is the
intermittent sound of his labor. Sometimes, towards morning, he drops
in for a visit,--literally drops in, by way of the chimney and the
open fireplace. He knows no fear. Going to the kitchen, he helps
himself to the doughnut left on the table for him. If it is a whole
one, he nibbles all around it. If only half a one he carries it away.
You may close the kitchen door and catch him with your bare hands. He
will neither squeal nor bite. But he makes a poor pet, because he
sleeps in the daytime and works in the darkness. He strongly dislikes
the light. If put into a box he backs up into the darkest corner,
brings his beautiful flat tail between his four legs and up over his
nose and his eyes. Rolled up lengthwise in this ball he spends the
day; but when evening comes he is active enough. If kept for any
length of time he makes a very docile pet and will beg permission to
sleep in your pocket. But it is better to give him his freedom, and
see him scamper up one tree and "fly" to another. As he springs he
spreads out the whitish membranes along each side, holds his flat tail