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    The Squirrels that live in a House

    by Harriet Beecher Stowe
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    Once upon a time a gentleman went out into a great forest, and cut
    away the trees, and built there a very nice little cottage. It was
    set very low on the ground, and had very large bow-windows, and so
    much of it was glass that one could look through it on every side and
    see what was going on in the forest. You could see the shadows of
    the fern-leaves, as they flickered and wavered over the ground, and
    the scarlet partridge-berry and winter-green plums that matted round
    the roots of the trees, and the bright spots of sunshine that fell
    through their branches and went dancing about among the bushes and
    leaves at their roots. You could see the chirping sparrows and the
    thrushes and robins and bluebirds building their nests here and there
    among the branches, and watch them from day to day as they laid their
    eggs and hatched their young. You could also see red squirrels, and
    gray squirrels, and little striped chip-squirrels, darting and
    springing about, here and there and everywhere, running races with
    each other from bough to bough, and chattering at each other in the
    gayest possible manner.

    You may be sure that such a strange thing as a house for human beings
    to live in did not come into this wild wood without making quite a
    stir and excitement among the inhabitants that lived there before.
    All the time it was building, there was the greatest possible
    commotion in the breasts of all the older population; and there
    wasn't even a black ant, or a cricket, that did not have his own
    opinion about it, and did not tell the other ants and crickets just
    what he thought the world was coming to in consequence.

    Old Mrs. Rabbit declared that the hammering and pounding made her
    nervous, and gave her most melancholy forebodings of evil times.
    "Depend upon it, children," she said to her long-eared family, "no
    good will come to us from this establishment. Where man is, there
    comes always trouble for us poor rabbits."

    The old chestnut-tree, that grew on the edge of the woodland ravine,
    drew a great sigh which shook all his leaves, and expressed it as his
    conviction that no good would ever come of it,--a conviction that at
    once struck to the heart of every chestnut-burr. The squirrels
    talked together of the dreadful state of things that would ensue.
    "Why!" said old Father Gray, "it's evident that Nature made the nuts
    for us; but one of these great human creatures will carry off and
    gormandize upon what would keep a hundred poor families of squirrels
    in comfort." Old Ground-mole said it did not require very sharp eyes
    to see into the future, and it would just end in bringing down the
    price of real estate in the whole vicinity, so that every decent-
    minded and respectable quadruped would be obliged to move away;--for
    his part, he was ready to sell out for anything he could get. The
    bluebirds and bobolinks, it is true, took more cheerful views of
    matters; but then, as old Mrs. Ground-mole observed, they were a
    flighty set,--half their time careering and dissipating in the
    Southern States,--and could not be expected to have that patriotic
    attachment to their native soil that those had who had grubbed in it
    from their earliest days.

    "This race of man," said the old chestnut-tree, "is never ceasing in
    its restless warfare on Nature. In our forest solitudes hitherto how
    peacefully, how quietly, how regularly has everything gone on! Not a
    flower has missed its appointed time of blossoming, or failed to
    perfect its fruit. No matter how hard has been the winter, how loud
    the winds have roared, and how high the snow-banks have been piled,
    all has come right again in spring. Not the least root has lost
    itself under the snows, so as not to be ready with its fresh leaves
    and blossoms when the sun returns to melt the frosty chains of
    winter. We have storms sometimes that threaten to shake everything
    to pieces,--the thunder roars, the lightning flashes, and the winds
    howl and beat; but, when all is past, everything comes out better and
    brighter than before,--not a bird is killed, not the frailest flower
    destroyed. But man comes, and in one day he will make a desolation
    that centuries cannot repair. Ignorant boor that he is, and all
    incapable of appreciating the glorious works of Nature, it seems to
    be his glory to be able to destroy in a few hours what it was the
    work of ages to produce. The noble oak, that has been cut away to
    build this contemptible human dwelling, had a life older and wiser
    than that of any man in this country. That tree has seen generations
    of men come and go. It was a fresh young tree when Shakespeare was
    born; it was hardly a middle-aged tree when he died; it was growing
    here when the first ship brought the white men to our shores, and
    hundreds and hundreds of those whom they call bravest, wisest,
    strongest,--warriors, statesmen, orators, and poets,--have been born,
    have grown up, lived, and died, while yet it has outlived them all.
    It has seen more wisdom than the best of them; but two or three hours
    of brutal strength sufficed to lay it low. Which of these dolts
    could make a tree? I'd like to see them do anything like it. How
    noisy and clumsy are all their movements,--chopping, pounding,
    rasping, hammering. And, after all, what do they build? In the
    forest we do everything so quietly. A tree would be ashamed of
    itself that could not get its growth without making such a noise and
    dust and fuss. Our life is the perfection of good manners. For my
    part, I feel degraded at the mere presence of these human beings;
    but, alas! I am old; a hollow place at my heart warns me of the
    progress of decay, and probably it will be seized upon by these
    rapacious creatures as an excuse for laying me as low as my noble
    green brother."

    In spite of all this disquiet about it, the little cottage grew and
    was finished. The walls were covered with pretty paper, the floors
    carpeted with pretty carpets; and, in fact, when it was all arranged,
    and the garden walks laid out, and beds of flowers planted around, it
    began to be confessed, even among the most critical, that it was not
    after all so bad a thing as was to have been feared.

    A black ant went in one day and made a tour of exploration up and
    down, over chairs and tables, up the ceilings and down again, and,
    coming out, wrote an article for the Crickets' Gazette, in which he
    described the new abode as a veritable palace. Several butterflies
    fluttered in and sailed about and were wonderfully delighted, and
    then a bumble-bee and two or three honey-bees, who expressed
    themselves well pleased with the house, but more especially enchanted
    with the garden. In fact, when it was found that the proprietors
    were very fond of the rural solitudes of Nature, and had come out
    there for the purpose of enjoying them undisturbed; that they watched
    and spared the anemones, and the violets, and bloodroots, and dog's-
    tooth violets, and little woolly rolls of fern that began to grow up
    under the trees in spring; that they never allowed a gun to be fired
    to scare the birds, and watched the building of their nests with the
    greatest interest,--then an opinion in favour of human beings began
    to gain ground, and every cricket and bird and beast was loud in
    their praise.

    "Mamma," said young Tit-bit, a frisky young squirrel, to his mother
    one day, "why won't you let Frisky and me go into that pretty new
    cottage to play?"

    "My dear," said his mother, who was a very wary and careful old
    squirrel, "how can you think of it? The race of man are full of
    devices for traps and pitfalls, and who could say what might happen
    if you put yourself in their power? If you had wings like the
    butterflies and bees, you might fly in and out again, and so gratify
    your curiosity; but, as matters stand, it's best for you to keep well
    out of their way."

    "But, mother, there is such a nice, good lady lives there! I believe
    she is a good fairy, and she seems to love us all so; she sits in the
    bow-window and watches us for hours, and she scatters corn all round
    at the roots of the tree for us to eat."

    "She is nice enough," said the old mother-squirrel, "if you keep far
    enough off; but I tell you, you can't be too careful."

    Now this good fairy that the squirrels discoursed about was a nice
    little old lady that the children used to call Aunt Esther, and she
    was a dear lover of birds and squirrels, and all sorts of animals,
    and had studied their little ways till she knew just what would
    please them; and so she would every day throw out crumbs for the
    sparrows, and little bits of bread and wool and cotton to help the
    birds that were building their nests, and would scatter corn and nuts
    for the squirrels; and while she sat at her work in the bow-window
    she would smile to see the birds flying away with the wool, and the
    squirrels nibbling their nuts. After a while the birds grew so tame
    that they would hop into the bow-window and eat their crumbs off the

    "There, mamma," said Tit-bit and Frisky, "only see Jenny Wren and
    Cock Robin have been in at the bow-window, and it didn't hurt them,
    and why can't we go?"

    "Well, my dears," said old Mother Squirrel, "you must do it very
    carefully; never forget that you haven't wings like Jenny Wren and
    Cock Robin."

    So the next day Aunt Esther laid a train of corn from the roots of
    the trees to the bow-window, and then from the bow-window to her
    work-basket, which stood on the floor beside her; and then she put
    quite a handful of corn in the work-basket, and sat down by it, and
    seemed intent on her sewing. Very soon, creep, creep, creep, came
    Tit-bit and Frisky to the window, and then into the room, just as sly
    and as still as could be, and Aunt Esther sat just like a statue for
    fear of disturbing them. They looked all around in high glee, and
    when they came to the basket it seemed to them a wonderful little
    summer-house, made on purpose for them to play in. They nosed about
    in it, and turned over the scissors and the needle-book, and took a
    nibble at her white wax, and jostled the spools, meanwhile stowing
    away the corn on each side of their little chops, till they both of
    them looked as if they had the mumps.

    At last Aunt Esther put out her hand to touch them, when, whisk-
    frisk, out they went, and up the trees, chattering and laughing
    before she had time even to wink.

    But after this they used to come in every day, and when she put corn
    in her hand and held it very still they would eat out of it; and
    finally they would get into her hand, until one day she gently closed
    it over them, and Frisky and Tit-bit were fairly caught.

    Oh, how their hearts beat! but the good fairy only spoke gently to
    them, and soon unclosed her hand and let them go again. So day after
    day they grew to have more and more faith in her, till they would
    climb into her work-basket, sit on her shoulder, or nestle away in
    her lap as she sat sewing. They made also long exploring voyages all
    over the house, up and through all the chambers, till finally, I
    grieve to say, poor Frisky came to an untimely end by being drowned
    in the water-tank at the top of the house.

    The dear good fairy passed away from the house in time, and went to a
    land where the flowers never fade and the birds never die; but the
    squirrels still continue to make the place a favourite resort.

    "In fact, my dear," said old Mother Red one winter to her mate, "what
    is the use of one's living in this cold, hollow tree, when these
    amiable people have erected this pretty cottage, where there is
    plenty of room for us and them too? Now I have examined between the
    eaves, and there is a charming place where we can store our nuts, and
    where we can whip in and out of the garret, and have the free range
    of the house; and, say what you will, these humans have delightful
    ways of being warm and comfortable in winter."

    So Mr. and Mrs. Red set up housekeeping in the cottage, and had no
    end of nuts and other good things stored up there. The trouble of
    all this was, that, as Mrs. Red was a notable body, and got up to
    begin her housekeeping operations, and woke up all her children, at
    four o'clock in the morning, the good people often were disturbed by
    a great rattling and fuss in the walls, while yet it seemed dark
    night. Then sometimes, too, I grieve to say, Mrs. Squirrel would
    give her husband vigorous curtain lectures in the night, which made
    him so indignant that he would rattle off to another quarter of the
    garret to sleep by himself; and all this broke the rest of the worthy
    people who built the house.

    What is to be done about this we don't know. What would you do about
    it? Would you let the squirrels live in your house or not? When our
    good people come down of a cold winter morning, and see the squirrels
    dancing and frisking down the trees, and chasing each other so
    merrily over the garden chair between them, or sitting with their
    tails saucily over their backs, they look so jolly and jaunty and
    pretty that they almost forgive them for disturbing their night's
    rest, and think that they will not do anything to drive them out of
    the garret to-day. And so it goes on; but how long the squirrels
    will rent the cottage in this fashion, I'm sure I dare not undertake
    to say.
    If you're writing a The Squirrels that live in a House essay and need some advice, post your Harriet Beecher Stowe essay question on our Facebook page where fellow bookworms are always glad to help!

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