Tiny went to the home of Chatty Chipmunk. The Chipmunks do not like the trees or the air or the sunshine as the Redsquirrel family do. Like most animals of their kind, they live in the ground.

Tiny entered the door and passed through a hall several feet in length. At the further end of the hall was a small opening which led to a room but little larger than the shell of a cocoanut. Chatty was alone, fast asleep.

“How can you sleep on a beautiful day like this!” cried Tiny, playfully pulling Chatty’s whiskers.

“I was only taking a nap,” sleepily responded Chatty. “My parents and brothers are out in the beech trees. I wanted to have a good rest, so I stayed at home. I cannot sleep well at night, because our house is crowded.”

“I am going out to gather our winter store,” said Tiny. “Don’t you want to come with me?”

“I should very much like to go, thank you,” returned Chatty, although he had refused to go with his family. “But you see, I cannot work hard when I work, though I can work hard when I play.”

They soon left the chipmunk home and started forth on their journey. They had not gone very far before Chatty began to complain.

“The sun is very warm, and it makes me drowsy,” said he. “How I do dislike to work! I am glad that I am not a beaver, for beavers work all the time.”

“I should think you would wish to help your family,” said Tiny. “What will become of you in the winter if you do not have plenty of food?”

“I will sleep all the time,” replied the chipmunk, yawning drowsily.

He was about to lie down to rest, when he espied a great yellow butterfly with wings that shone like gold. She was fast asleep upon a thistle.

Chatty dashed after her, but she flew from thistle to bush and flower, not at all frightened. After he had tired himself running, he sat down, panting.

“Your winter store will soon be gathered if you spend as much energy in working as you have in running,” said Tiny, his eyes twinkling.

“It is great sport to chase butterflies,” said Chatty. “They are such stupid creatures, yet they are very pretty. Who ever heard of sleeping on a thistle?”

“I think it would be much more comfortable than to sleep in a hole in the ground,” replied Tiny. “Mother said that butterflies always seem to match the seasons.” Tiny, without knowing it, began to imitate his mother’s voice and her way of talking. He spoke more slowly than she did, however, for he was trying hard to remember all she had told him about the pretty things. “When the world is still brown and bleak and the spring sun is beginning to warm things into life, the brown and black butterflies come. Then, when the violets spread carpets over the vales and in the woodlands, the blue butterflies appear. In summer come the queenly swallow-tail butterflies, clad in red, copper, and burnished silver. Often one dressed in pure white may be seen, for white is very comfortable to wear in warm weather. It reflects the hot rays of the sun. In the autumn the yellow and orange butterflies are more numerous. They are the color of the goldenrod and the sunflowers and the brown-eyed Susans. The yellow butterflies like to sip the honey from the yellow flowers, but the white butterflies seem to prefer the white clover. They are the most beautiful of all insects. Their four wings are colored on both sides. When they rest, their wings stand straight up and do not fold.”

“Butterflies are very queer animals,” said Chatty ungraciously. He was vexed with butterflies, because he knew so little about them. “Why do they sleep with their wings held high above their heads? I should think they would get so sound asleep that they would forget to hold them up.”

“It is natural for them to hold up their wings,” laughed Tiny. “Do you forget to breathe when you are sound asleep?”

“Of course not,” retorted Chatty, “nor do I forget to eat when I am hungry. However, I cannot see why the butterfly sleeps in such a silly position.”

“Some of them slowly open and shut their wings all the time they are asleep,” explained Tiny. “I never knew another creature that sleeps so gracefully as the butterfly does. I would rather take a nap on a thistle in the sunshine than roll up in a fluffy ball and sleep in a dark hole in the ground. You must not criticise those whose customs are different from yours. Perhaps the butterfly is quite as much amused at you.”

“There she goes again!” cried Chatty, suddenly. “I wish I were a flying-squirrel, that I might catch her. Wait a moment until I frighten her again.”

Chatty began to chase the butterfly once more. He was accustomed to running without looking where he was going, so he did not see the danger that awaited him.

Splash! Chatty fell into the creek and disappeared from sight. The butterfly flew safely across the stream.

Tiny was not alarmed, for he knew that his companion could swim. Soon the chipmunk’s little nose appeared above the water. After a great deal of splashing, he reached the bank of the stream, very much chagrined.

“I think I must have been more scared than the butterfly was,” he admitted, as he shook his fur. “I am as tired as I can be and as wet as a fish. Where is the butterfly?”

“Over on yonder blue-flag, fast asleep,” said Tiny.