that it was simply to call me to see his discovery,--a new nest,
a loon that swam up close, a thieving muskrat, a hawk that rested
on a dead stub, the mink family eating my fish heads,--and when I
stole out to see what it was, he would run ahead, barking and
chuckling at having some one to share his interests with him.

In such places squirrels use the ice for occasional journeys to
the mainland. Sometimes also, when the waters are calm, they swim
over. Hunters have told me that when the breeze is fair they make
use of a floating bit of wood, sitting tip straight with tail
curled over their backs, making a sail of their bodies--just as
an Indian, with no knowledge of sailing whatever, puts a spruce
bush in a bow of his canoe and lets the wind do his work for him.

That would be the sight of a lifetime, to see Meeko sailing his
boat; but I have no doubt whatever that it is true. The only red
squirrel that I ever saw in the water fell in by accident. He
swam rapidly to a floating board, shook himself, sat up with his
tail raised along his back, and began to dry himself. After a
little he saw that the slight breeze was setting him farther from
shore. He began to chatter excitedly, and changed his position
two or three times, evidently trying to catch the wind right.
Finding that it was of no use, he plunged in again and swam
easily to land.

That he lives and thrives in the wilderness, spite of enemies and
hunger and winter cold, is a tribute to his wits. He never
hibernates, except in severe storms, when for a few days he lies
close in his den. Hawks and owls and weasels and martens hunt him
continually; yet he more than holds his own in the big woods,