I don’t see what Sis wants to string this stuff all over the house for, just because it happens to be Christmas!” Tommy, as he sat on a big stone and idly kicked at a pile of beautiful ground-pine and balsam . “It’s the best day for skating we’ve had yet, and here I am missing a whole morning of it, and so tired that most likely I won’t feel like going this afternoon!”  
Now Tommy knew well that if his mother said that he could go, nothing could keep him away from the pond that afternoon. He was a little tired, perhaps, but not nearly so tired as he tried to think he was. Christmas greens was work of course. But when you come right down to it, there is work about almost everything, even skating. The chief difference between work and pleasure is the difference between “must” and “want to.” When you must do a thing it becomes work; when you want to do a thing it becomes pleasure.
 
Right down deep inside, where his honest self lives, Tommy was glad that there was going to be a green wreath in each of the front windows, and that over the doors and pictures there would be sweet-smelling balsam. Without them, why, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmasy at all! And really it had been fun gathering those greens. He wouldn’t admit it, but it had. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world. It was only that it had to be done just when he wanted to do something else. And so he tried to feel grieved and , and to forget that Christmas was only two days off.
 
He sat on the big gray stone and looked across the Green Meadows, no longer green but covered with the whitest and lightest of snow-blankets, across the Old Pasture, not one less beautiful, to the Green Forest, and he sighed. It was a deep, heavy sigh. It was the sigh of a self-made .
 
As if in reply, he heard the sharp voice of Chatterer the Red Squirrel. It rang out clear and loud on the frosty air, and it was very plain that, whatever troubles others might have, Chatterer was very well satisfied with the world in general and himself in particular. Just now he was along the fence, stopping at every post to sit up and tell all the world that he was there and didn’t care who knew it. Presently his sharp eyes spied Tommy.
 
Chatterer stopped short in the middle of a rail and looked at Tommy very hard. Then he barked at him, jerking his tail with every . Tommy didn’t move.
 
Chatterer jumped down from the fence and came nearer. Every foot or so he paused and barked, and his bark was such a funny mixture of nervousness and excitement and curiosity and , not to say , that finally Tommy laughed right out. He just couldn’t help it.
 
 
Back to the fence rushed Chatterer, and up to the top of a post. Once sure of the safety of this retreat, he faced Tommy and began to scold as fast as his tongue could go. Of course Tommy couldn’t understand what Chatterer was saying, but he could guess. He was telling Tommy just what he thought of a boy who would sit moping on such a beautiful day, and only two days before Christmas at that!
 
My, how his tongue did fly! When he had had his say to the full, he gave a final whisk of his tail and scampered off in the direction of the Old . And, as he went, it seemed to Tommy as if he looked back with the kind of a twinkle in his eyes, as much as to say, “You deserve all I’ve said, but I don’t really mean it!”
 
 
Tommy watched him, a lively little red spot against the white background, and, as he watched, the smile gradually faded away. It never would do at all to go home in good spirits after raising such a fuss as he had when he started out. So, to make himself feel as badly as he felt that he ought to feel, Tommy sighed dolefully.
 
“Oh, but you’re lucky!” said he, as Chatterer’s sharp voice floated over to him from the Old Orchard. “You don’t have to do a blessed thing unless you want to! All you have to do is to eat and sleep and have a good time. It must be fun. I wish I were a squirrel!”
 
Right then something happened. It happened all in a flash, just as it had happened to Tommy before. One minute he was a boy, a discontented boy, sitting on a big gray stone on the edge of the Green Meadows, and the next minute he wasn’t a boy at all! You see, when he made that wish, he had quite forgotten that he was sitting on the wishing-stone. Now he no longer had to guess at what Chatterer was saying. Not a bit of it. He knew.
 
He talked the same language himself. In short, he was a red squirrel, and in two minutes had forgotten that he ever had been a boy.
 
How good it felt to be free and know that he could do just as he pleased! His first impulse was to race over to the Old Orchard and make the acquaintance of Chatterer. Then he thought better of it. Something inside him seemed to tell him that he had no business there—that the Old Orchard was not big enough for two red squirrels, and that, as Chatterer had gone there first, it really belonged to him in a way.
 
He felt quite sure of it when he had replied to Chatterer’s sharp voice, and had been told in no uncertain tones that the best thing he could do would be to run right back where he had come from.
 
Of course, he couldn’t do that, so he to do the next best thing—run over to the Green Forest and see what there was to do there. He up on the rail fence and whisked along the top rail.
 
What fun it was! He didn’t have a care in the world. All he had to do was to eat, drink, and have a good time. Ha! who was that coming along behind him? Was it Chatterer? It looked something like him, yet different somehow. Tommy sat quite still watching the stranger, and, as he watched, a curious terror began to creep over him.
 
The stranger wasn’t Chatterer! No, indeed, he wasn’t even a squirrel! He was too long and slim, and his tail was different. He was Shadow the Weasel! Tommy didn’t have to be told that. Although he never had seen Shadow before, he knew without being told. For a minute he couldn’t move. Then, his heart beating with fear until it seemed as if it would burst, he fled along the fence toward the Green Forest, and now he didn’t stop at the posts when he came to them. His one thought was to get away, away as far as ever he could; for in the eyes of Shadow the Weasel he had seen death.
 
Up the nearest tree he raced and hid, clinging close to the trunk near the top, staring down with eyes fairly with fright. Swiftly, yet without seeming to hurry, Shadow the Weasel came straight to the tree in which Tommy was hiding, his nose in Tommy’s tracks in the way that a hound follows a rabbit or a fox. At the foot of the tree he stopped just a second and looked up. Then he began to climb.
 
At the first scratch of his claws on the bark Tommy raced out along a branch and leaped across to the next tree. Then, in a great panic, he went on from tree to tree, taking desperate chances in his long leaps. In the whole of his little being he had room for but one feeling, and that was fear—fear of that pitiless pursuer.
 
He had run a long way before he realized that he was no longer being followed. The fact is, Shadow had found other game, easier to catch, and had given up. Now, just as soon as Tommy realized that Shadow the Weasel was no longer on his track, he straightway forgot his fear. In fact it was just as if he never had had a fright, for that is the law of Mother Nature with her little people of the wild. So presently Tommy was once more as happy and care-free as before.
 
In a big chestnut-tree just ahead of him he could see Happy the Gray Squirrel; and Happy Jack was very busy about something. Perhaps he had a storehouse there. The very thought made Tommy hungry. Once more he hid, but this time not in fear. He hid so that he could watch Happy Jack. Not a sound did he make as he peered out from his hiding-place.
 
Happy Jack was a long time in that hollow limb? It seemed as if he never would come out. So Tommy started on to look for more , for he was bubbling over with good spirits and felt that he must do something.
 
Presently, quite by accident, he discovered another of nuts, mostly , tucked away in a crotch of a big tree. Of course he sampled them. “What fun!” thought he. “I don’t know who they belong to, and I don’t care. From now on, they are going to belong to me.”
 
He started to carry them away, but a sudden harsh scream close to him startled him so that he dropped the nut he had in his mouth. He behind the trunk of the tree just in time to escape the dash of an angry bird in a brilliant blue suit with white and black trimmings.
 
 
“Thief! thief! thief! Leave my acorns alone!” screamed Sammy Jay, anger making his voice harsher than ever.
 
Round and round the trunk of the tree Tommy dodged, back in reply to the sharp tongue of the angry bird. It was exciting without being very dangerous. After a while, however, it grew , and, watching his chance, he slipped over to another tree and into a hole made by Drummer the Woodpecker. Sammy Jay didn’t see where he had disappeared, and, after hunting in vain, gave up and began to carry his acorns away to a new hiding-place.[41] Tommy’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched. By and by he would have a hunt for it! It would be fun!
 
When Sammy Jay had hidden the last and flown away, Tommy came out. He didn’t feel like hunting for those acorns just then, so he scampered up in a tall hemlock-tree, and, just out of sheer good spirits and because he could see no danger near, he called sharply that all within hearing might know that he was about.
 
Almost instantly he received a reply from not far away. It was an angry warning to keep away from that part of the Green Forest, because he had no business there! It was the voice of Chatterer. Tommy replied just as angrily that he would stay if he wanted to. Then they barked and at each other for a long time. Gradually Chatterer came nearer. Finally he was in the very next tree. He stopped there long enough to tell Tommy all that he would do to him when he caught him, and at the end he jumped across to Tommy’s tree.
 
Tommy waited no longer. He wasn’t ready to fight. In the first place he knew that Chatterer probably had lived there a long time, and so was partly right in saying that Tommy had no business there. Then Chatterer looked a little the bigger and stronger. So Tommy nimbly ran out on a branch and leaped across to the next tree. In a flash Chatterer was after him, and then began a most exciting race through the tree-tops.
 
Tommy found that there were regular squirrel highways through the tree-tops, and along these he raced at top speed, Chatterer at his heels, scolding and threatening. When he reached the edge of the Green Forest, Tommy down the last tree, across the open space to the old stone wall and along this, Chatterer following.
 
Suddenly the anger in Chatterer’s voice changed to a sharp cry of warning. Tommy into a between two stones without stopping to inquire what the trouble was. When he peeped out, he saw a great bird sailing back and . In a few minutes it alighted on a near-by tree, and sat there so still that, if Tommy had not seen it alight, he never would have known it was there.
 
“Mr. Goshawk nearly got you that time,” said a voice very near at hand. Tommy turned to find Chatterer peeping out from another crevice in the old wall. “It won’t be safe for us to show ourselves until he leaves,” continued Chatterer. “It’s getting so that an honest squirrel needs eyes in the back of his head to keep his skin whole, not to mention living out his natural life. Hello! here comes a boy, and that means more trouble. There’s one good thing about it, and that is he’ll frighten away that .”
 
Tommy looked, and sure enough there was a boy, and in his hands was an air-rifle. Tommy didn’t know what it was, but Chatterer did.
 
“I wish that hawk would hurry up and fly so that we can run!” he . “The thing that boy carries throws things, and they hurt. It isn’t best to let him get too near when he has that with him. He seems to think it’s fun to hurt us. I’d just like to bite him once and see if he thought that was fun! There goes that hawk. Come on now, we’ve got to run for it!”
 
Chatterer led the way and Tommy followed. He was frightened, but there wasn’t that terror which had him when Shadow the Weasel was after him. Something struck sharply against the wall just behind him. It frightened him into greater speed. Something struck just in front of him, and then something hit him so hard that just for a second he nearly lost his balance. It hurt dreadfully.
 
“Hurrah!” shouted the boy, “I hit him that time!” Then the boy started[46] to run after them so as to get a closer shot.
 
“We’ll get up in the top of that big hemlock-tree and he won’t be able to see us,” panted Chatterer. “Did he hit you? That’s too bad. It might have been worse though. If he had had one of those things that make a big noise and smoke we might not either of us be here now.
 
“Boys are hateful things. I don’t see what fun they get out of frightening and hurting such little folks as you and me. They’re ! That’s what they are! When we get across that little open place, we can laugh at him. Come on now!”
 
Down from the end of the old wall Chatterer jumped and raced across to the foot of a big hemlock-tree, Tommy at his heels. Up the tree they ran and hid close to the trunk where the branches were thick. They could peer down and see the boy, but he couldn’t see them. He walked around the tree two or three times, and then shot up into the top to try to frighten the squirrels.
 
“Don’t move!” whispered Chatterer. “He doesn’t see us.”
 
Tommy obeyed, although he felt as if he must run. His heart seemed to jump every time a bullet in among the branches. It was dreadful to sit there and do nothing while being shot at, and not know but that the very next minute one of those little lead shot would hit. Tommy knew just how it would hurt if it did hit.
 
Presently the boy gave up and went off to some one else. No sooner was his back fairly turned than Chatterer began to scold and at him. Tommy joined him. It was just as if there never had been any danger. If that boy could have understood what they said, his ears would have burned.
 
Then Chatterer showed Tommy just what part of the Green Forest he claimed as his own, and also showed him a part that had belonged to another squirrel to whom something had happened, and suggested that Tommy take that for his. It wasn’t as good as Chatterer’s, but still it would do very well. Tommy took possession at once. Each agreed not to on the other’s territory. On common ground, that didn’t belong to either of them, they would be the best of friends, but Tommy knew that if he went into Chatterer’s part of the Green Forest, he would have to fight, and he made up his mind that if any other squirrel came into his part of the Green Forest, there would be a fight. Suddenly he was very jealous of his new possession. He was hardly willing to leave it, when Chatterer suggested a visit to a near-by corn-crib for a feast of yellow corn.
 
Chatterer led the way. Tommy found that he was quite from the shot which had hit him, but he was soon racing after Chatterer again.
 
Along the old stone wall, then along a fence, up a maple-tree, and from there to the roof of the corn-crib, they scampered. Chatterer knew just where to get inside, and in a few minutes they were stuffing themselves with yellow corn. When they had eaten all that they could hold, they stuffed their cheeks full and started back the way they had come.
 
Tommy went straight to his own part of the Green Forest, and there he hid his treasure, some in a hollow , and some under a little pile of leaves between the roots of a tree. All the time he watched sharply to make sure that no one saw him. While looking for new hiding-places, his nose told him to dig. There, buried under the leaves, he found nuts hidden by the one who had lived there before him. There must be many more hidden there, and it would be great fun hunting for them. Doubtless he would find as many as if he had hidden them himself, for he had seen that Chatterer didn’t know where he had put a tenth part of the things he had hidden. He just trusted to his nose to help him get them again.
 
He found a splendid nest made of leaves and strips of inner bark in the hollow stub of a big branch of a chestnut-tree, and he made up his mind that there was where he would sleep. Then he ran over to see Chatterer again. He found him scolding at a cat who watched him with yellow, unblinking eyes. Chatterer would run down the trunk of the tree almost to the ground, and there scold and call names as fast as his tongue could go. Then he would run back up to the lowest branch and scold from there. The next time he would go a little farther down. Finally he leaped to the ground, and raced across to another tree. The cat sprang, but was just too late. Chatterer at her. Then he began the same thing over again, and kept at it until finally the cat gave up and left in disgust. It had been exciting, but Tommy shivered at the thought of what might have happened.
 
“Ever try that with a fox?” asked Chatterer.
 
“No,” replied Tommy.
 
“I have!” boasted Chatterer. “But I’ve seen squirrels caught doing it,” he said. “Still, I suppose one may as well be caught by a fox as by a hawk.”
 
“Did you see that weasel this morning?” asked Tommy.
 
Chatterer actually shivered as he replied: “Yes, I saw him after you. It’s a wonder he didn’t get you. You’re lucky! I was lucky myself this morning, for a went right past where I[53] was hiding. Life is nothing but one jump after another these days. It seems as if, when one has worked as hard as I did last fall to store up enough food to keep me all winter, I ought to be allowed to enjoy it in comfort.
 
“Those who sleep all winter, like Johnny Chuck, have a easy time of it. They don’t know when they are well off. Still, I’d hate to miss all the excitement and fun of life. I would rather jump for my life twenty times a day as I have to, and know that I’m alive, than to be alive and not know it. See that dog down there? I hate dogs! I’m going to tell him so.”
 
Off raced Chatterer to bark and scold at a little black-and-white dog which paid no attention to him at all. The shadows were creeping through the trees, and Tommy began to think of his nest. He looked once more at Chatterer, who was racing along the top of the old wall scolding at the dog. Suddenly what seemed like merely a darker shadow swept over Chatterer, and, when it had passed, he had vanished. For once, that fatal once, he had been careless. Hooty the had caught him. Tommy shivered. He was frightened and cold. He would get to his nest as quickly as he could. He leaped down to a great gray stone, and—behold, he wasn’t a squirrel at all! He was just a boy sitting on a big stone, with a heap of Christmas greens at his feet.
 
He shivered, for he was cold. Then he jumped up and stamped his feet and threshed his arms. A million diamond points glittered in the white meadows where the snow crystals splintered the sunbeams. From the Old Orchard sounded the sharp scolding chirr and cough of Chatterer the Red Squirrel.
 
Tommy listened and slowly a smile widened. “Hooty didn’t get you after all!” he muttered. Then in a minute he added: “I’m glad of it. And you haven’t anything more to fear from me. You won’t believe it, but you haven’t. You may be , but I guess you have troubles enough without me adding to them. Oh, but I’m glad I’m not a squirrel! Being a boy’s good enough for me, ’specially ’long ’bout Christmas time. I guess Sis will be with these greens. But it’s queer what happens when I sit down on this old rock!”
 
He frowned at it as if he couldn’t understand it at all. Then he gathered up his load of greens, and, with the merriest of whistles, homeward. And to this day Chatterer the Red Squirrel cannot understand how it came about that from that Christmas he and Tommy became fast friends. But they did.
 
Perhaps the wishing-stone could tell if it would.