him. The jay fluttered off, screaming derision. Meeko followed,
hurling more abuse, but soon gave up the chase and came back to
his chestnuts. It was curious to watch him there, sitting
motionless and intent, his nose close down to his treasure,
trying to compute his loss. Then he stuffed his cheeks full and
began carrying his hoard off to another hiding place.

The autumn woods are full of such little comedies. Jays, crows,
and squirrels are all hiding away winter's supplies, and no
matter how great the abundance, not one of them can resist the
temptation to steal or to break into another's garner.

Meeko is a poor provider; he would much rather live on buds and
bark and apple seeds and fir cones, and what he can steal from
others in the winter, than bother himself with laying up supplies
of his own. When the spring comes he goes a-hunting, and is for a
season the most villainous of nest-robbers. Every bird in the
woods then hates him, takes a jab at him, and cries thief, thief!
wherever he goes.

On a trout brook once I had a curious sense of comradeship with
Meeko. It was in the early spring, when all the wild things make
holiday, and man goes a-fishing. Near the brook a red squirrel
had tapped a maple tree with his teeth and was tasting the sweet
sap as it came up scantily. Seeing him and remembering my own
boyhood, I cut a little hollow into the bark of a black birch
tree and, when it brimmed full, drank the sap with immense
satisfaction. Meeko stopped his own drinking to watch, then to
scold and denounce me roundly.