Edith B. Davidson

“ For nearly a week they travelled on, but much more pleasantly than with the fierce North wind.
At times the wind would stop blowing, and Mr. Bushy Tail would be gently dropped in some pretty wood or meadow, where he could find plenty to eat and to drink.
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He filled his bag to overflowing with the most delicious squirrel’s food, and only regretted that the bag was not bigger.
At last one evening, the wind softly dropped him, and blew on alone. Mr. Bushy Tail looked about him, and saw that he was in his own woods, only a short distance from home. ”

“ White ants! Black ants! Speckled ants!—just any kind of ants. They are all excellent, both as food and appetizers.”
“No, thank you,” said Mr. Bushy Tail, in rather a disgusted voice. “I do not care for ants. (68) Do you eat nothing else?”
“Nothing!” answered the other proudly. “I am the world famous Quilly Ant-Eater, of whom you have doubtless heard.”
Now Mr. Bushy Tail had never heard of this celebrated personage, but he was too wise to say so. He only inquired where he could find a few nuts, for he was half starved, and also the nearest way to the North. ”

“ Bright and early the next morning, Mr. Bushy Tail was up, had washed his little face and paws, and brushed out his pretty soft fur, of which he was justly a trifle vain. The sun was shining, and although the air was very cold, he decided (24) it was best for him to start for his cousin Red Squirrel’s.
His wife bundled him up in a warm sweater and socks, which she had made him for a Christmas present. Over his shoulder he slung a bag for the corn, and promising surely to be back in two days time, he trotted away, after having kissed the entire family three times all around. ”