Now we’re together, after all.”

“I’m so happy with you!” Perri rejoiced.

“You couldn’t have done better,” said her mother. “At that rate you’re sure to get along.”

Perri waved her tail proudly, flashed through the branches, came back, and sighed, “I’m dreadfully hungry, Mother.”

“That’s easily fixed,” smiled her mother. “Come with me.”

The two gamboled through the leaves, which barely trembled underfoot. They reached their own oak, and passed on to a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth.

“Where are we going?” asked Perri.

“Come on,” said Mother, dropping to the ground.

Perri stopped on the lowest branch; she asked, “Isn’t it dangerous down there?”

Again Mother answered, “Come on!”

At that Perri leaped boldly to the ground. The soft earth was covered with fine, pale-brown needles; its scent was delicious.

“Look around.”

Some twenty tall, pointed firs spread heavy branches; their dark needles were tipped with light green. They made an island in the leafy forest.

“Haven’t you ever seen these before?”

“No,” said Perri. “Haven’t they any leaves?” She was drunk with the scent of resin.

“Remember these trees, child; they’ll give us many a meal. Try one of these,” said Mother, picking up a fat cone.

Perri walked unsteadily over; she was clumsy away from the trees. She sniffed the cone, discovered the seeds under the scales, and began to gnaw hungrily.

“Does it taste good?”

“Wonderful!”

It was very still; only the two squirrels whisked about, feasting on the fir cones. At first Mother fed Perri each new one. Then Perri learned to poke around for herself in the rich carpet of moss and needles. Many loose seeds were hidden there. Perri loved this game, and thanks to her sense of smell and her healthy appetite she learned it fast.

Past dangers were forgotten.

But Mother remained alert; from time to time she would sit erect. Perri began to imitate her mother. Once she thought she heard a suspicious noise. She started to rush blindly for the nearest tree, but her mother calmed her. “Stay where you are,” she said, and added, “don’t be a coward.”

Perri had learned a great deal in a few hours.

“Now up we go,” said Mother, hopping to the fir, and climbing the trunk. Perri followed after. Climbing was not the word; they dashed straight upward as if on a level track. Indeed they ran faster here than on level ground. Up here their bodies were entirely free, their motions entirely graceful; there was purpose as well as grace in the flicking of their tails.

How different the evergreens were from the oaks at home! The branches stood in regular circles, one above the other, around the trunk; the shoots were spread out like fans, with the dark-green needles in rigid order.

Mother simply whizzed along. Perri hesitated a little. “It’s dark here!” she cried.

Mother was already far away when she answered, “But lovely and quiet!”

Now Perri romped as only boisterous children can, and her mother danced as only happy mothers do. The two played tag on their way to the next fir. There Mother stopped to listen.

“Relatives,” she announced.

“Relatives?” said Perri, who had thought they were the only squirrels in the forest. Sure enough, two squirrels raced up, a mother and her little son. They sat down with tails held high.

“Hello,” said the strangers, and Perri’s mother replied, “Hello.”

The children said nothing. They looked at each other curiously.

Now a large black squirrel arrived, to be admired with some puzzlement by Perri.

“Haw!” cried he, “haw, a whole party and my wife not here?”

Nobody answered. The black fellow turned to Perri’s mother. “Do you live in the evergreens?”

“No, but not far away.”

“And you?” he quizzed the strange mother, “do you live here?”

“I live in the leafy trees,” she replied, “a long way off.”

“Haw! Not so far off as I do,” boasted the black one.