By this time she was at the top of the tree, and now her grief changed
to anger--real anger--and she sat on one of the boughs and scolded as
hard as she could. Her funny little "prit, prit, p-r-i-t," amused the
children, and the more she scolded the more they laughed.

At last Siccatee grew disgusted and left that tree to go to another,
and then another, and still another; springing such distances and at
such a height that the children thought she would be dashed to pieces
every moment. But not a bit of it. Siccatee, like all squirrels, was
very sure-footed, and rarely made a false step. If, by any chance, she
should loose her foothold, she would spread out her legs and funny,
bushy tail, drop lightly to the ground and bound away as though
nothing had happened. But she took care not to lose her foothold now,
with those Horrible Humans so near. All she thought about was to get
away from them as quickly as possible, and to lead them away from her
other hiding-places.

Luckily they had found but one. She had several others near the big
tree--for this was her home tree, and there she and her husband had
lived for two or three years, and reared several families.

[Illustration: "SAT ON ONE OF THE BOUGHS AND SCOLDED AS HARD AS SHE
COULD."]

But while all this was going on, Siccatee called to her husband, and
in a very few minutes he joined her. He was much bigger than Siccatee
and not so nervous, and on hearing what had happened flew into a great
rage, and dared and defied his enemies in the same way that his wife
had done--that is, by sitting on a bough and scolding them.