Your mother is nimble. You’re sure to find her soon.”

The three talked for a while—the child, the blackbird and the squirrel, who felt at home here.

Suddenly the blackbird took wing. “He!” she cried.

Perri flashed like red lightning up the beech tree. Annerle’s father came out the door.

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Chapter Four

PERRI DANCED GAILY ALONG THE branches of the beech; she whirled up and up, around the trunk. She felt almost grown up.

Her meeting with Annerle had been a great experience, something for a young squirrel to grow on. Annerle’s face seemed to Perri as lovely as the flowers of the forest. Annerle was part of it all. Perri loved her as she loved anything friendly and innocent—even more, because the child’s voice was so gracious and captivating.

And besides, Perri had seen the tremendous He—only for a second, of course, but the glimpse was enough to upset her. The great, upright form, the hairy face, the echoing footstep—when she thought of them, Perri had to stop to catch her breath.

So Annerle had saved Perri’s mother. Perri wondered: How do you go about saving someone? What does saving mean, anyway?

Mother had been sheltered from the merciless marten, who would have torn her limb from limb. Mother, weak and exhausted, was able to rest and to whisk off to freedom. That was what being saved meant.

Annerle was more powerful than the marten. And she was kind and gentle. Is there more power in kindness than in the pursuing enemy? Perri brooded a while over this puzzle. For a long time she leaned against the beech trunk, pressing her little forepaws to her white breast, while confused memories of the day swam before her: the cuckoo, the magpie, the jay, the blackbird, Annerle, He.

Suddenly she felt a longing for her mother. She ran off toward the oak where she lived. She had never gone so far away from it. But her native sense of direction guided her. Soon Perri found the maple, and reached it at a bound, whirring, racing along; soon she saw the familiar oak—

Broad black wings flapped about her; a black, black-beaked head stabbed at her; black, greedy eyes sparkled, and a disgusting smell almost knocked her senseless.

Perri dodged into the foliage, and reached the protecting trunk. She circled it in haste, twice, three times.

“Look out for the crow!” the magpie had warned.

There was a loud rustling in the leaves. The crow could not spread his wings fully here in the branches, but he moved nearer.

Perri braced herself hard against the bark. She straightened up, held her paws high, and growled, “Get out! Get out!”

The crow jeered: “I wouldn’t dream of it! You’ll be a tasty bit, little one!”

Perri dodged the cut of his beak by a desperate leap to the next limb. She was horror-struck; she had met the enemy face-to-face, had seen his strong, cruel beak.

The crow had wings, and would soon catch up with her. Hopeless to turn tail. Perri sat up again, and raised her poor paws. Determined to fight to the last, she watched her foe’s every move; once more she panted despairingly, “Get out! Get out!”

Suddenly there was a red flame between the shoulders of the enemy. A familiar voice cried angrily, “Leave my child alone!”

The startled crow flew up out of the maple. There was Perri’s mother.

High in the tree the woodpecker laughed mockingly, “You did well to chase away the shameful creature.”

Mother quivered with rage: “Absolutely! The scamp! Those wretched crows!”

Perri was beside herself with rage. “Scoundrel! Scoundrel! Scoundrel!”

The woodpecker added: “What don’t they do? No nest is safe from them—eggs, young ones, nothing! You came just in the nick of time, old girl!”

“Mother! Mother!” cried Perri. “What would I have done without you?”

“It’s all right, child, things aren’t so bad.