get. They might have a nut or two, occasionally, she said, and
meanwhile she would teach them the proper way in which to eat a nut or
an egg.

Siccatee had found an egg in some hay in a little wooden hut, next to
the house at the foot of the wood, and this she had carried very
carefully to one of her stores. She considered that this would be a
good time to teach her children--there were two of them, fine young
specimens of American squirrels--their first important lesson.

So she stood up, holding the egg firmly with her fore paws, then, with
a crisp snap of her sharp little teeth, she broke the shell, and
cleverly sucked out the inside of it; not all, because she wanted her
little ones to taste and see how good an egg really was. And very good
they thought it--so good that in a few moments the egg was empty and
the two young squirrels were quarreling over the shell. But Siccatee
soon settled that by a scolding and several sharp pats.

But she had not finished her lesson yet, and next showed them how to
eat a nut. She held the nut very much in the same way that she had
held the egg. First of all, she bit off one end of the nut with her
teeth, then broke away the rest of the shell, carefully pulling off
the little brown husk on the kernel, then munched it in her funny
little way as though it was the greatest dainty she had ever tasted.

The young squirrels grew quite excited over this, and kept breaking
and peeling nuts until their mother told them they had had enough, and
sent them off to bed for the night.

Soon after this winter suddenly appeared, covering the earth and trees