  “Grandma, what made those little scars on this finger?” asked Nellie. “Those,” said grandma, reflectively, “were made by a saucy little gray squirrel.” “How?” “When I was a little girlie, smaller than you, uncle gave me a gray squirrel in a cage for a pet. As we all fondled him he soon became very tame. We often opened his cage door and allowed him to run around the house at will. One day he ran upstairs and played havoc in a feather bed. After that when out of his cage we kept a close watch on him, never allowing him in a bedroom. “But he had already learned a new trick which he seemed very loth to forget. Every time that he could sneak into a bedroom he would make a bee-line for the bed, tear a hole in the tick and be inside among the feathers in a flash. “As I said before, everyone around the place petted and handled him and he had never bitten nor scratched anyone. But one day while playing with him he suddenly leaped from my arms and raced upstairs. Just as he jumped upon a bed I caught him. This angered his squirrel-ship. He turned and savagely ran his long, sharp teeth through my finger. The sores were slow about healing and left these little scars. After that mother would not allow me to let him out of his cage.” Loveday Almira Nelson. ENGLISH WALNUT.
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