If the camera was moved there, they
would change again, so I sat in the shade of a clump of papaws to
wait and see if they would not grow accustomed to it.
They kept me longer than I had expected, and the chances are I
would have answered the cardinal's call, and gone to the river,
had it not been for the interest found in watching a beautiful grey
squirrel that homed in an ivy-covered stump in the pasture. He
seemed to have much business on the fence at the hilltop, and raced
back and forth to it repeatedly. He carried something, I could not
always tell what, but at times it was green haws. Once he came
with no food, and at such a headlong run that he almost turned
somersaults as he scampered up the tree.
For a long time he was quiet, then he cautiously peeped out.
After a while he ventured to the ground, raced to a dead stump,
and sitting on it, barked and scolded with all his might. Then he
darted home again. When he had repeated this performance several
times, the idea became apparent.
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