“Hm,” said Snythergen when Squeaky had finished his tale, and for some time he remained silent. At last he spoke.

“I think we had better build a house!”

“Good,” said Squeaky, “but is this a safe place? Didn’t I see a bear in the crowd you attracted?”

“Yes, but I don’t think he’ll come back. If he does my tree suit will save us. I can bend over until my limbs touch the ground. Then you can climb into my top branches and I’ll lift you out of danger. The bear will take me for a tree and leave us alone.”

So they set to work very promptly. The plans they drew called for a round house. And to make sure it would be big enough for Snythergen, he lay on the ground curling up in the smallest space he could, and Squeaky traced a line around him in the dirt to mark the position of the outside wall. They planned to make the roof high enough for Snythergen when he was lying down, but of course he would be unable to stand up or even to sit up without bumping his head on the ceiling. The outer circle just inside the wall was to be Snythergen’s bedroom, and Squeaky was to occupy the space in the middle. It took several weeks to build the house and before the paint was quite dry Snythergen spread pine boughs over the ground floor to make a soft place for them to lie.

In the center of the roof was a hook to which was fastened a rope running up over a pulley attached to the top of a pine tree. From the other end of the rope hung a huge boulder, just as heavy as the house. The stone and the building balanced each other so nicely that a little pull would send the house up or down. In the daytime the house was pulled up and left dangling above the ground to air out. At night when they went to bed Snythergen would lie down, bending himself into the exact shape of his bedroom by following a line marked out on the ground; and when he lay in just the right position so that the house when lowered would clear him, Squeaky would crawl over him into his little nest. Then Snythergen, reaching up, would pull the house down over their ears, making them snug and cozy for the night.

While they had been at work on their new house a most persistent little bird had followed them around, perching on a near-by tree or bush. He appeared to listen to their words and moved his bill as if practicing the sounds; and sometimes he would make the strangest noises! Squeaky, always glad of a chance to visit, fell into the habit of talking to the bird. It did not occur to him that a goldfinch would not be able to understand; besides the little fellow stood so still when Squeaky spoke to him he seemed to be taking it in.

“Do you understand me?” Squeaky would ask impatiently.

A strange sound not unlike “no” was the response.

“Then you do understand!” said Squeaky.

“No,” it came unmistakably now.

“Evidently the finch wants to learn to talk,” thought Squeaky, so he began to instruct him. He knew well how to set about it, for he had learned himself only with the greatest difficulty. He used the silent speech method—that is, he had the finch go through the motions of saying the words with his bill and throat, without actually making a sound. It was a good way to learn, but amusing to watch. The first day the goldfinch learned to make the motions for several words. When he did “cat” how he shuddered and flapped his wings as if to fly away in a hurry. How his bill did water and what a hungry gleam came into his eyes when he did “worm”!

Because his teacher would not permit sounds at first, the finch learned to put great feeling into his gestures and the expression of his face. And in time when he had learned to talk this assisted him greatly with animals and birds ignorant of the language. For those who did not understand what he said, knew what he meant by his gestures. After he had been instructing the finch for a fortnight and had come to like him, Squeaky decided to ask Snythergen to invite the little bird to share their quarters. “He is such a sensible little bird,” thought Squeaky, “if he behaves well to-morrow, I’ll ask Snythergen’s permission then.”

That was the day the house was completed and that night the owners were very tired. They slept soundly until three o’clock in the morning when something woke them.

“What was that?” asked Squeaky in a shaky voice.

“It sounded like a growl,” said Snythergen, and his trembling was so violent it shook the house. Thereafter no more sleep was possible for either, but the sound did not return. When morning came they investigated and found bear tracks leading to the door.

“What shall we do?” asked Snythergen.

As usual the finch was perched on a branch listening, standing so close to Snythergen’s ear that his wing rubbed against it.

“Who’s tickling my ear?” said Snythergen, looking around. But the finch had hidden behind a leaf.

“What do bears want?” asked Squeaky.

“To make trouble, I guess,” said Snythergen.

During the building of the house Snythergen had been so busy he had not even noticed Squeaky’s little friend. Now the finch wished to join in the conversation, for his teacher had just given him permission to speak out loud. He wanted to celebrate his first spoken words by saying them at the top of his voice, so pushing his little bill into Snythergen’s ear, he screamed:

“Bears don’t want to make trouble, they want food!”

Snythergen jumped as if a bee had stung him.

“What was that!” cried he, looking around and seeing nothing. For again the finch had hopped behind a leaf.

“It’s my good friend, the goldfinch,” said Squeaky. “I want you to meet him. I have been teaching him to talk, and you heard the first words he has spoken out loud. Don’t you think he did them rather well?” he asked, proud of his pupil.

“If loudness is an indication I should say he did, most decidedly,” said Snythergen, whose ears were still ringing. “If he keeps on improving they can hear him in the next county!”

“Come,” said Squeaky, looking around for the finch, “I want you to meet him.” At Squeaky’s request, the finch came out of his hiding place and was presented.

“If it isn’t the little goldfinch!” exclaimed Snythergen in surprise, and he burst out laughing.

“What are you laughing at?” asked the finch suspiciously.

“I was just thinking how difficult it seems to be for some birds to find their way back to their nests,” said Snythergen.

At this the sensitive bird flushed a brighter gold and hung his bill dejectedly.

“I suppose trees look a good deal alike,” continued Snythergen mockingly, “and that is why it is so hard to find the one your nest is in!”

Too confused to answer, the finch made up his mind to question Squeaky when they were alone, and at the first opportunity told the pig of his adventure with the strange tree. When Squeaky explained that Snythergen had a costume of bark, branches and leaves, the little bird understood how the “tree” had been able to hide from him, and why he had been unable to get any trace of his nest. Though he felt indignant about the way he had been treated, he decided for the present to say nothing and bide his time.