of her wrist and shoulder, and the next moment seemed to slip into
the woods, and was gone.

Don Caesar listened with a sigh as the last rustling ceased, cast a
look at the decayed tree as if to fix it in his memory, and then
slowly retraced his steps towards his tethered mustang.

He was right, however, in his surmise of the cause of that
interruption. A pair of bright eyes had been watching them from
the bough of an adjacent tree. It was a squirrel, who, having had
serious and prior intentions of making use of the cavity they had
discovered, had only withheld examination by an apparent courteous
discretion towards the intruding pair. Now that they were gone he
slipped down the tree and ran towards the decayed stump.


CHAPTER III


Apparently dissatisfied with the result of an investigation, which
proved that the cavity was unfit as a treasure hoard for a discreet
squirrel, whatever its value as a receptacle for the love-tokens of
incautious humanity, the little animal at once set about to put
things in order. He began by whisking out an immense quantity of
dead leaves, disturbed a family of tree-spiders, dissipated a drove
of patient aphides browsing in the bark, as well as their attendant
dairymen, the ants, and otherwise ruled it with the high hand of
dispossession and a contemptuous opinion of the previous
incumbents. It must not be supposed, however, that his proceedings
were altogether free from contemporaneous criticism; a venerable