IV

IVLITTLE MITCHELL’S CAT NEIGHBORSPeterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah,—these were the cats. Peterkin and the lady had been great friends. Peterkin was a very proud cat and a very handsome one, dark and tiger-striped. He used to come into the lady’s room a great deal, and sometimes he would sleep all night on the couch under the window.When the lady got back from her visit to Mount Mitchell, Peterkin was glad, and ran up to her room; but, to his amazement, she did not invite him in. She even shut the door in his face.Peterkin walked off with his tail in the air, and never came to see heragain. She tried to explain, but it was no use; Peterkin never forgave her.He was a very wise cat, and likely enough, if she had shown Baby Mitchell to him, he would have understood and been very good; but she was afraid to risk it, for Baby Mitchell was such a tender little dot that if Peterkin had not understood, or had not understood soon enough, there might have been a sad ending to the little Black Mountain baby. For, you see, no matter how sorry Peterkin might have been after it was all over, or no matter how well he might have understood after he had done it, that wouldn’t have helped Baby Mitchell any after he had been eaten up. So Peterkin was gently but firmly refused admittance; and, as I said, he never got over it.Peterkin was a wise cat, but not so wise as his mother. Peterkin’s motherwas called Grandma, and she was the wisest cat I ever knew. She was a little cat, striped like Peterkin, but not handsome like him, for she had had a very hard time when she was young, and that perhaps is why she was so wise.She belonged to people who were not kind to her, and they often teased and hurt her, and they did not give her enough to eat. So she did not grow large nor handsome, because one must have the right kind of food and care when one is young in order to grow properly.But she learned a great deal about people and how to look out for herself; so when she came to live with the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife and catch mice for them, she was a wise little cat as well as a homely one.But they did not know she was homely, for they found out what aloving little heart she had, and how wise she was; and, you know, it doesn’t matter at all how homely you are if you are only loving and thoughtful and quick and kind. Indeed, you will seem quite beautiful to those about you,—more beautiful than if you looked prettier and were less kind and loving.So the little Grandma soon won the hearts of her new friends. Jack and Hallet were her grandchildren, and fine fellows they were, so big and black and striped,—real tiger-cats.It was strange that such a little cat as Grandma should have such large, handsome children and grandchildren; but then, you see, she might have been large and handsome herself if she had been properly cared for when she was young.Well, Grandma’s daughter Ann was the mother of Jack and Hallet. BeforeJack and Hallet were born their mother Ann was in great trouble, because every time before all but one of her kittens had mysteriously disappeared, and after a while that one disappeared too.She seemed to know that the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife were somehow to blame for this, for she had always had her kittens in the house, and had taken great pride in showing them to her human friends as soon as they were born. This time she and Grandma were noticed having a great consultation together; that means, you know, that they seemed to be talking it over. Finally, she and Grandma went off, Grandma leading the way.The gentleman wondered what it was all about, and watched them without their knowing it. Grandma led Lady Ann up the long hill backof the house to an old barn, way off where hay was stored. Into this barn they went, and in a nice soft bed of hay Jack and Hallet were born; and not a word did these two conspirators say to their human friends about the two handsome kits up in the old hay barn.But when the kittens were half grown,—too big to disappear, you know,—their mother proudly took them home and showed them to the gentleman and his wife, who were also very proud of them, they were so handsome.Well, they were Jack and Hallet, and they lived to be old and very well behaved cats, and they were always handsome. Little Goliah was Grandma’s own child; but he never was much of a kit, for Grandma was very old—that is, old for a cat—when he was born. She hid himaway until he was a big kit, for she wanted to save him from disappearing; and because he was her youngest he was also her favorite. Even after he was grown up, she would wash his face and brush his coat with her rough tongue. She treated him as though he were a little kitten until she died of old age.And Goliah was always a weak kit, and not nearly as large nor as handsome as the others, and not so very wise. But the gentleman’s wife took the best of care of him for Grandma’s sake.The very funniest, cunningest thing Grandma ever did was to bring the kit that sat on the sticky fly-paper to her mistress. This happened before Grandma got to be so old. The kitten was very young, and it was her grandchild, the child of her daughter Sue.One day the little fuzzy kit sat down on the sticky fly-paper that the girls who worked in the kitchen had left lying around. They had been forbidden to use it, for fear a kit might sit on it; and how they got the fly-paper anyway is a mystery. For the gentleman and his wife had built their pretty log-house away out in the mountains, thirty or forty miles from a railroad, and there were no shops in the mountains where one could go to buy things.Probably the fly-paper had been sent by mistake with the things ordered from the far-away big city. Things were always being sent by mistake.So the kit sat down on the fly-paper. Then it rolled over on it, trying to get loose.The girls took it up as soon as they saw it, but it was a dreadful-lookingkitten by the time they got it free. Its fur was all stuck together, and its paws and its ears and everything were terribly stuck up.Then its mother and Grandma tried to put it to rights, and they licked and licked and licked, but the more they licked the worse it looked. There was no doing anything with it.Finally the gentleman and his wife, who were in the sitting-room, heard Grandma crying very loudly at the door. They wondered what had happened, and opening the door saw Grandma on the step. She was talking very fast,—in hermeowtalk, you know,—and behind her stood Mother Sue with the kitten in her mouth.They had done all they could, and now they had come for help to the gentleman and his wife.Little Mitchell Washes his Face“Out there in the corn-field he climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and sat there and washed his face with his little hands.” (Page125)The gentleman was very angry when he saw the fix the kitten was in, and the careless girls in the kitchen got a good scolding, which I am sure they deserved. But before he took time to do any scolding, the gentleman got something that would soften the sticky stuff, and he and his wife very carefully cleaned the baby kitten’s fur, and then washed it with warm water and soap, and rubbed it dry. It was hours before they got that kitten put to rights.Well, those were the cats that lived around Baby Mitchell; and if he had only had a number of lives, no doubt the kittens could have been taught, after they had killed him a few times, that they must not hurt him. But as he had only one life, he couldn’t very well spare that; and so the kits had to be shut out of the room where he was.I think they knew he was there, for they used to smell about the door and act as kits do when they think thereis a mouse inside. Not that Baby Mitchell smelled at all like a mouse,—indeed, he was the sweetest, cleanest little dot that ever wore a fur coat,—never any unpleasant odor about him. But kits can smell so much sharper than we, that they no doubt knew there was some little chap in there, and they no doubt thought the little stranger needed their attention. For they were famous hunters, and caught all the mice on the place, as well as all the squirrels and birds they could, and even the rabbits.Of course it was too bad for them to catch the birds and squirrels; but they were not really to blame, for they did not know any better. They thought all little animals ought to be eaten up by kits, if kits could catch them.Not that they ever got very hungry, for they always had enough, and more than enough, in their plates aroundat the back of the kitchen. Every morning and evening, when the man brought the fresh milk, their dishes were filled, and when they heard him sing out, “Poos, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s,” they would come running out of the woods, or from under the house, or off the porch, or wherever they happened to be,—for no matter how many mice and squirrels and birds they had eaten they were always able to drink a little milk.It was fun to see their heads close together in the dish; only Goliah would never eat with the others. He had to have his dish separate, and sometimes he would not eat at all unless his mistress took him in the house and let him sit by her chair. He would not even eat the nice meat and things the gentleman’s wife gave the kits every day unless she fixed a plate for him all by himself.By this time you will have guessed that the gentleman’s wife was fond of kittens.Long ago, when Grandma was young, there were twenty kits to take care of. They were all Grandma’s children or grandchildren, and they accumulated before the gentleman’s wife could harden her heart enough to cause some of them to disappear when they were first born. Those were great days for the cats! And it was a sight to see them come running when the man brought in the milk and called “Poos, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s.”It was a sight, too, to see them go walking with the family. When the gentleman and his wife would start for a walk in the cool of the evening, all the kits would go tagging on behind, with their tails in the air, as proud as you please. But as years passed, some of them died of old age or otherwisedisappeared, until finally there were only Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah left,—a very harmonious family, all but Goliah, who was sometimes cross to the other kits, and would growl at them and slap their faces, which seemed to astonish them very much.Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah were the only cats that belonged there when Baby Mitchell appeared upon the scene. Not that Baby Mitchell was seen much, for he stayed in his lady’s room, with the door shut, all the time.But Billy came every day to drink the milk and eat the good things the other cats had. Billy belonged to the man who brought the milk, and he had plenty to eat at home. Still, he liked to come, and the gentleman’s wife let him, because he was related to Grandma too. He was a funny-lookingcat, rather square in shape, and he had a way of scratching with his hind legs, like a dog. He was cross to Goliah and would cuff him when he got a chance.Then there was Lady Jane. He had one white eye and a torn ear. He was a very dissipated-looking cat, and he had evidently fought a great many fights. Why he was called Lady Jane, I am sure I do not know. He was not related to Grandma, and nobody knew where he came from. He did not fight the kits that belonged to the gentleman’s wife, at least not when he came to get something to eat. And though she did not like his looks, the gentleman’s wife was too kind-hearted to drive him away.When summer was over, the gentleman and his wife went away to their other home in a Northern city;but you must not suppose they left their cats to suffer. No, indeed! The kits had a warm house of their own to sleep in, and there was a little door left open at the back of it so that they could go into the kitchen if they wanted to. They were good neat cats, that never abused this privilege.Every day, all winter long, the man came with fresh milk, night and morning, and called “P-ooo-s, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s.” And two or three times a week they had fresh meat, or, best of all, canned salmon. The gentleman left a whole case of salmon for them every year, and they loved it better than anything else,—for you know cats are very fond of fish. Some cats will even go fishing for themselves if they live near the water.Little Mitchell Likes Chinkapins“He sat on the Lady’s knee and cracked chinkapins, and would give the shells a toss that sent them far away.” (Page132)Baby Mitchell’s lady once had a cat whose name was Little Man Friday, and he would catch his own fish out of a little bayou that came up from the Gulf of Mexico, on whose shore the lady lived. For Little Man Friday was a Florida cat, and perhaps some day you may like to hear his story, and how he got his name.Grandma and the other kits knew perfectly well when the gentleman and his wife were packing their trunks to go North, and it made the poor kits very unhappy. It made Grandma so dreadfully unhappy toward the end of her life that they used to do it slyly, and not let her see the preparations for going away.Well, there isn’t any more about Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah. They came into the story only because they lived in Baby Mitchell’s house—no, Baby Mitchell lived in their house a little while, and they didn’t eat him up, although they were such near neighbors.VLITTLE MITCHELL STARTS OUT TO SEE THE WORLDItwas soon time for Little Mitchell’s lady to go back to her home in Boston.“What are you going to do with that little squirrel?” asked her friend the gentleman in whose house she stayed.“I shall try to take him with me,” said she.“Of course you will,” said her friend the gentleman’s wife. She knew how it is about kittens, you see, and how you get attached to them and do not like to give them away to other people who may not always remember to take good care of them.So the lady told Little Mitchell he should go to Boston with her. He didn’t say whether he wanted to go or not, but of course he did want to go,—for what could the little fellow have done without his lady? He was still such a baby, and slept more than anything else, and still drank his milk out of a spoon as you drink out of a tumbler. But how he did hate to have his mouth wiped! When he had done drinking milk, his lady would wipe his mouth off on a soft napkin, and he never forgot to scream and cry when she did it. He was like some other naughty children.Oh no, he didn’t like to have a dirty face,—that wasn’t it. But he liked to wipe his mouth himself, and the trouble is he wouldn’t always wipe it in the right place. Sometimes he would wipe it on the napkin, like a good little squirrel; but he preferredto squirm out of his lady’s hand and wipe it on her dress, and of course she did not like that.She would often give him a drink of cold water, and he seemed to enjoy that almost as much as the milk, though the gentleman said he ought not to have it, for his own mother would not have given him cold water. But the lady only laughed, and said the reason that mother squirrels did not give their babies cold water was because they had no tumblers in which to carry it.Anyway, he enjoyed the cold water, and he grew fast, and seemed a very healthy, happy little fellow; and if he ever had a stomach-ache he said nothing at all about it. So I do not believe he ever had one, for if anything was really the matter with him he was quick enough to make a fuss.The day came at last for the ladyto say good-bye to her dear friends, the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife, and Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah, and Sally and Lenoir.Who were Sally and Lenoir? Why, don’t you know? Sally was the white horse with the long mane, and when the long forelock was parted down over her face she looked just like the beautiful picture of Rosa Bonheur’s horse; and Lenoir was the black horse, just as handsome as Sally, but not so famous-looking.The gentleman and the gentleman’s wife said good-bye to Little Mitchell; but Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah did not, for they were not allowed to. The lady gave Peterkin a kiss on the top of his head between his ears, because she liked him very much and felt sorry that he was offended with her.Then the man who was to drive herand Little Mitchell away in the carriage snapped his whip, the two mules started off at a trot down the driveway, and Little Mitchell and the lady were off,—not exactly for Boston, because they had to go to a good many places before they could get there.And first, they had to go to Grandfather Mountain.Of course they took a long and lovely drive that day, but there were no deep rivers to cross, only some dear little streams, all ripply and shiny where the sun got through to them under the tall trees.After a while they came to a schoolhouse, buried deep in the shady forest. It was not vacation, and as it was recess, all the little barefooted boys and girls stood and looked at the carriage and the lady and the driver.It was not often that anybody passed the schoolhouse on that lonely road,and they were very much interested. The lady was very much interested too. They were such bright, pretty little barefooted people. So she got out and spoke to the schoolmaster, and to the children, who gathered shyly about her and looked into her face so sweetly that she wanted to kiss them all.After the lady and Little Mitchell and the driver had gone ever so far past the schoolhouse, they stopped for dinner. The mules had some corn and some dried corn-leaves to eat, and the lady had sandwiches and cake and jam and lots of other good things out of a box that the gentleman’s wife had given her; and the driver had all he wanted too. But of course Little Mitchell had condensed milk again; the gentleman’s wife had given the lady a nice fresh can of it for him. When he hadeaten his dinner, he stretched out on his lady’s knee and took a sun-bath and a nap while she read in a book.Then he was put back in his little box, and they all went on again, through more lovely forests and over the Blue Ridge Mountain, which is not so very high along here. The road was rather rough and steep in places; but you know what a sleepy-head Little Mitchell was, so the jolting of the carriage did not wake him up.Well, toward night they got to a little hotel near the beautiful Linville Falls. Here they stayed until next morning; but Little Mitchell did not sleep in a feather-bed this time, because, you know, he had his own little box, with nice warm cotton to cuddle down in.Of course the children who lived here had to have a peep at the funnylittle fellow. The children’s mother gave him some milk for his supper, and then the lady put him to bed.Next morning the lady and Little Mitchell and the driver went on, and at noon they had their dinner again by the roadside, and Little Mitchell again had his condensed milk, and screamed as naughty as could be when his mouth was wiped, and stretched himself on his lady’s knee in the sun.Toward night they climbed a long sloping road up the side of the Grandfather Mountain. It was a beautiful smooth road, not at all jolty; and soon they came to a white house on the mountain side, the only house for several miles.Here the driver left them and returned to his own home; but Little Mitchell and the lady stayed there several days.Little Mitchell did not care about the beauty of the mountains, but the lady did. She used to go out and walk, and leave him at home asleep. Sometimes she walked up toward the top of the great Grandfather Mountain,—that rocky top, as black as ink, which you can see miles and miles away. It is black because the sharp rocky ridge wears a dress of lichens as black as coals. I don’t know why such black lichens grow all over Grandfather’s top, but they do, and below the black rocks is a wide belt of dark green balsam firs that you know look black in the distance; so it is a very stern-looking Grandfather Mountain indeed.Why is it called the Grandfather Mountain?Well, if you walk along a road that is at the north side of it you will come to a place where you can look acrossand see standing out from the side of the mountain a great stone face, like the face of an old, old man; and it is from this profile the mountain gets its name.Where Little Mitchell’s lady walked down in the woods below, it was not black at all, but very bright and sweet, with fine trees growing; for it is only near the top that the balsam firs are found.Some of the forest leaves had already changed their color; for it was early fall now, and the woods were all golden in the sunshine, and the yellow witch hazel was everywhere in bloom.Along the edges of the road were little piles of acorn shells. These were the work of the squirrel folk. They had shelled out the green acorns, and of course they must have eaten the inside part, or kernel. Every little pile of shells showed where a squirrel had sat and eaten acorns, or perhaps he had been on a limb of the tree above and dropped the shells down.Little Mitchell on a Frolic“Hop, hop, went Little Mitchell, all up and down the room.” (Page142)The lady tasted one of the green acorns, but it was so bitter and puckery she made up a queer face over it. But she put some of the acorns in her pocket for Little Mitchell. Since the other squirrels liked them so much, she thought perhaps he would like them too; but when she gave them to him he only played with them, and did not even try to eat one.It was about this time that Little Mitchell began to sit up. Such a funny, floppy sitting up as it was! He did not hold his back up straight, but got himself all into a queer little heap, and the best he could do was to keep from tumbling over. But no doubt he felt very proud of himself,and imagined he was a big grown-up squirrel.He wasn’t, though, for he could not crack even an acorn; and he still drank milk, though he had learned to love sugar cookies. His lady would give him a little piece of one, and he liked it so much he almost choked himself to death trying to stuff it down his throat too fast.You may know what a baby he was when I tell you how he ran into the fireplace.The first time he tried it, there was no fire there, and he started to go up the chimney, and his lady caught him just in time and pulled him down all black and sooty.The next time there was a fire; but that didn’t matter to Little Mitchell. He ran right into it, and burned the whiskers all off one side of his face, and the lady snatched himout just in time to prevent his poor little nose from getting burned too. He was so surprised that he didn’t even try to get out. You see, he wassucha baby!Of course he slept in his little box of cotton, and one cold night his lady was awakened in the middle of the night by a great commotion. She heard something scratching frantically somewhere, and Little Mitchell was screaming and crying like everything.She jumped up and got a light, and there was Little Mitchell’s box wiggling about as though bewitched. He was inside, scratching and thumping about and crying with all his might. Whatcouldbe the matter?You remember it was a cold night, and the lady concluded the little fellow was cold, and so she took him out. The moment he got into her warm hand, he stopped crying; so,not knowing what else to do, she took him to bed with her, and he curled down at her side under her hand and went to sleep like a good little kitten.When he woke up in the morning, what do you think he did? He licked his lady’s hand first; then he began to play with her fingers, making believe to bite them, and patting them with his little paws and jumping away just as a kitten does.They had a real good frolic. Little Mitchell would scamper down to the foot of the bed under the covers, then come creeping up until close to the lady’s hand, when she would poke it at him and he would scurry off again.So he kept on playing until it was time to get up; then the lady left him alone, all covered up in the warm bed, and he curled right up and went to sleep until she was ready to go downstairs,when she put him in his little box, which he didn’t like at all, you may be sure. But there was a fire now, so the room was warm; and soon his lady brought him his breakfast of warm milk and a little piece of sugar cooky.Of course the lady always remembered the baby bunny asleep in his nest at home, when she went out to walk; and if she saw anything she thought he would like, she brought it home to him.One day she brought him some chestnuts. They were the very first ones to get ripe. Indeed, they were not ripe enough to fall out of their burrs of themselves; but when their burrs were pounded open with a stone, out they slipped, fine, fat, shiny brown ones. And so big they were! That is because they grew on the dear and lovely Grandmother Mountain, whichyou know is not so high as Grandfather Mountain, but close to it, and very beautiful, covered with all sorts of delightful growths. And its chestnutsareso big! They grow on little low trees, so little you would hardly expect to find any nuts on them; but their tops are just covered with big, round, splendid burrs full of big, plump, brown nuts that are as sweet as any nuts can be. The lady took some of these nuts home, but she did not give them to Little Mitchell until she had roasted them in the hot ashes and made them quite soft. Then she gave him one, and the baby took it in his hands, and sat up as well as he could, and looked very wise indeed. But he was just making believe, for he didn’t know in the least what to do with that nut. He sniffed at it, but seemed to have no idea what was inside, until the lady opened it forhim. Then he ate a piece of it, gnawing it with his four little front teeth, and liked it very much.Every day after that he had roasted chestnuts with his milk.Oh yes, indeed, he soon learned to know them with the shell on, and to take it off too. He would bite it loose, and then give it a fling that sent it ever so far.Thus they lived and had good times on the side of the beautiful Grandfather Mountain for more than a week. Then one day the lady’s trunk was taken off by a mule team to Blowing Rock; but she and Little Mitchell did not go with it. They went around on the other side of the mountain.VILITTLE MITCHELL REFUSES TO LEAVE HIS LADYLittle Mitchellin his box, and the lady on her two feet, started off to go to the other side of Grandfather Mountain. They were on the south side now, you know, and they wanted to get to the north side.The way is to go across a sheep pasture, and climb a fence, and go across an old garden, or what once was a garden, and climb another fence, and then you are in the wild woods, with a pretty winding path in front of you and service trees overhead dropping down ripe red berries for you to eat, if you go at the right time of year. Little Mitchell and his lady were too late for the berries, butthey went along under the pretty service trees.Well, you go on down the path into the deep, deep forest, with the big old oaks and beeches and other trees about you, and the sunbeams dancing in and out, making the forest all motley like the skin of a leopard.You go down steeper and steeper, until you come to the end of the path and enter a road that runs at right angles to it.It is a fearful road, full of loose stones and great rocks, such as you find in the bed of a stream. Indeed, it is the dry bed of a stream, and the stream itself, in another bed near by, is the very beginning of the Linville River, and you keep having to cross over the river any way you can, by jumping from stone to stone, and sometimes slipping off and getting wet.Sometimes this queer road runs rightup the river bed; and then you walk along the edge of it, along a winding path through the rhododendrons.There were some mountain people going along the road when Little Mitchell and the lady got to it that day. There were a man, a boy, a horse and wagon, and two young girls; and they were all walking, because it was easier to walk than to go tilting and jolting and jiggling over all those stones. Besides, the horse was not strong enough to pull anything but the wagon over such a road, and so they showed Little Mitchell’s lady how to get across the young Linville by jumping on the stones.Little Mitchell was asleep in his box, which of course the lady carried as carefully as she could, so that he didn’t know nor care anything about all this.They went gayly along together,until they got to the house where Little Mitchell’s lady was to stop. It was a wild place, close to the great Grandfather Mountain; but it was very sweet, with the fresh air and the tinkly stream across the road in front of the house.The stream was not the Linville,—they had left that behind. It was the beginning of the Watauga River, that flows in exactly the opposite direction from the Linville, and has trout hiding in its pools.The house stands on such a steep slope! You look out of the front windows across the narrow Watauga valley, which is nothing but a gorge here, and see the Grandfather Mountain rising up like a tremendous wall all covered with trees.Little Mitchell in his Box“There he lay on his back, like a hot, tired, human little baby.” (Page152)But back of the house, where the trees have been cut away, the steep slopes are just covered with wild strawberries. Such big, sweet berries! Why, they are as big as your thumb; mind, I say as big asyourthumb, not as big as mine, which is quite another matter. But anyway they are big enough. Of course there were none then,—it was too late; but in the early summer I should like to see you climb that slope without wetting your feet in strawberry juice! You couldn’t do it, they are so thick. And sweet?—Well, you should just taste them!Little Mitchell and his lady stayed all night in the house at the foot of the strawberry slope, and the people who lived there were pleased, for they knew Little Mitchell’s lady, and were glad to see him too. They thought him the cunningest baby they had ever seen. He ran about the room, and climbed on the table, and washed his face, and played with his lady, and looked up the big stone chimney. Healmost had a mind to run up it; but his lady said no, so he ate his supper of roasted chestnuts and fresh milk, and went to bed in his little box.Next morning the woman who kept the house went with Little Mitchell and his lady on a lovely walk over the mountains to where her mother lived.When noon came, they were only half-way there; so they sat down on a sweet mountain-side, to rest and eat, and Little Mitchell’s lady took him out of his box and gave him sugar cooky and roasted chestnuts for his dinner. She thought he could get along without milk now for a little while, because it was so hard to carry it.He had grown to be quite a squirrel by this time, and the lady thought that perhaps he was old enough to care for himself, and would like to be set free in the woods, which is the besthome for the little squirrel-folk, you know.So she looked at him as he sat on her knee eating his chestnuts, which he held in his funny little hands and nibbled very fast indeed. He could sit up pretty well now, and yet he did look like such a baby!Still, she thought perhaps she ought to let him go free; and here in this wild spot, where there were no cats to catch him, was a good place.So when he had finished his dinner she put him down on the ground near a little tree, and then went back and sat down where she had been before, some distance away.What do you think Little Mitchell did now?He looked around at the big, wild, lonely forest, and then at his dear lady, and he ran and scrambled and scampered as fast as his little legscould carry him,—not up the tree, oh no, indeed!—but straight back to his lady. He climbed into her lap and stuck his head up her sleeve, and seemed glad to be at home again.You see, the little fellow was afraid, and no doubt it made him feel very bad to think that maybe he was to be left there all alone.But you may be sure the lady did not leave him after that. She tucked him into his little box, where he curled right up and went to sleep; and when they started on again, she carried along the box with Little Mitchell in it.After all, there were no sugar cookies and roasted chestnuts in the woods for the little fellow.They spent the night at the woman’s mother’s house, and next morning Little Mitchell and his lady went on to Blowing Rock, which is several miles away.But it was a glorious walk,—first through the beautiful forest, and then out into a corn-field where the cornstalks were rustling their brown leaves in the breeze.When they got to the corn-field, the lady took Little Mitchell out of the box; the sun was warm, and she thought he would enjoy it,—for he was getting too big now to stay shut up all day.So she opened the box-cover and out popped Little Mitchell. He climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and sat there and washed his face with his hands very fast indeed.He looked so cunning washing his face, that the lady always liked to see him do it. First he would flatten his ears down close to his head, then he would put his face into his two hands held close together, and scrub very fast, rubbing all over his ears and back of them.He did not lick his paws to moisten them, as a cat does, for he did not seem to have much moisture in his little mouth. His tongue was very small, and as soft as velvet. But when he wanted to wash his face, now, what do you think he did? Why, he blew his nose hard into his hands, and then washed away! What he got from his little nose was very clean and watery, just as clean as what puss gets on her paws when she licks them. Yes, it does seem strange to you, but that is the way the squirrel-folk all do. If you were a squirrel, you would think it queer to do any other way.Well, Little Mitchell, out there in the corn-field, sat up on his lady’s shoulder and washed his face until he was satisfied; then he climbed all over her, up and down and around, clear down to the hem of her dress.She was afraid he would get a little too frisky, and jump down to the ground and get lost; but, dear me! she needn’t have worried about that. Jump down? He wouldn’t have left his lady that day among those rustling cornstalks, not for the whole world. He just climbed about for fun and exercise; but when the corn-leaves rustled, how scared he was! He scrambled as fast as he could down the lady’s arm and up into her coat-sleeve; and when she got him out, back he went as soon as a corn-blade rustled near them.“You must be hungry,” she said, when at last she had him cuddled up in her hand. So she picked an ear of corn, and they sat down and pulled off the husk and all the long soft silk that was inside, and Little Mitchell had some of the kernels.He took them in his little hands,one at a time, and looked up at his lady out of his bright eyes with such a wise air! He turned the kernel of corn over, and sniffed at it until he found the germ that lies in one side,—the little thing that sprouts when you plant the corn,—and he pulled this out with his sharp front teeth, and ate it very fast; but the rest of the kernel he threw away. Not a bit of it would he eat but that! You see the germ was soft and sweet, and pleased the little chap.If all squirrels eat corn in that way, it is no wonder the farmers worry when they make a raid on the cornfields in the early autumn!When Mitchell had eaten all the tender corn-germs he wanted, they went on; and the very next blade that rustled near them—pop!—he was over the lady’s shoulder, up under her jacket, and in the top ofher sleeve. She had to stop and take off her jacket and extract him. He kept on at this trick until finally she put him in his box and fastened the cover down,—which, after all, was just what he wanted, for he was tired, and he curled right up and went fast asleep and gave her no more trouble.Away they went, down the mountain, across the valley, up another mountain, and down into the Watauga valley, where the river is larger and where the chinkapins grow.It is the same valley where stands the house on the strawberry slope,—only the Watauga River is not a tinkling trout-brook down here, but quite a proud stream, though it still has trout in its pools.Of course, when they got among the chinkapins they stopped to gather some,—for these were ripe, if thestrawberries were not, and there were plenty of them too.Whatarechinkapins?Why, don’t you know? All the children who live in the South know what chinkapins are,—at least, all who live where they grow know.They are not berries! No, guess again.Yes, nuts; little shiny brown nuts, like baby chestnuts. The mountain children often string them for beads, they are so pretty. They grow in little burrs, like tiny chestnut burrs; but there is only one nut in a burr instead of two or three, and they grow on bushes or little trees, with leaves like chestnut leaves, only smaller.No, chinkapins are not shaped quite like chestnuts; they are not flat anywhere. Chestnuts have to be flat on at least one side, because they grow three in a burr, and are squeezedagainst each other, so the middle chestnut is flat on both sides, but the others are flat only on the inside and rounded on the outside. But the chinkapin is rounded on both sides, because it is alone in its burr, with nothing to flatten against. Oh no, it is not round all over like a marble,—it is like a tiny chestnut, only it is rounded instead of being flattened on its sides.I wish I could give you a handful of shiny chinkapins, then you would know just how they look.Children who do not live near chinkapins need to know about them because of “Uncle Remus.” When you read how “Brer Rabbit” sat on a chinkapin log, combing his hair with a chip, you ought to know what a chinkapin log is like.Little Mitchell’s Visitor“He scampered off as if the old cat were after him.” (Page158)Chinkapins being so small, and only one in a burr, you can imagine they are not easy to gather until Jack Frost comes along with his sharp fingers and splits open all the tiny burrs on all the little chinkapin trees. Then you have only to shake the trees or beat the bushes, and patter! patter! patter!—out will come jumping the pretty brown chinkapins, as thick as rain-drops in a summer shower, and all you have to do is to get down and pick them up.Mitchell liked the little nuts, they are so sweet, and he could crack them for himself because the shells are soft, like chestnut shells. So he sat on the lady’s knee in the chinkapin patch, and cracked chinkapins, and when he had succeeded in getting a shell off he would give it a toss that sent it far away.The lady ate chinkapins too, they were so sweet and good; but Little Mitchell did not quite like that,—heseemed to think she was eating his nuts, and once in a while he would reach up and snatch away her chinkapin, and scold and chatter at her. That was because he was hungry, and thought he wanted them all; but when he had had enough he let her eat what she wanted too.Presently along came Phyllis Amaranth, Lucy Ansonia Belindy, and Mollie May. Of course they came with their pretty feet bare, and none of them were more than seven years old.They just smiled and smiled, and clasped their hands tight together, when they saw Little Mitchell. But he kept one eye on them, and when they came too near he ran and hid in the folds of his lady’s dress. He didn’t care for little girls, and he was terribly afraid they might touch him.So Phyllis Amaranth, Lucy Ansonia Belindy, and Mollie May ran to thechinkapin bushes and shook them, and picked up the chinkapins very fast, and gave them to Mitchell’s lady for him, so that she soon had all she could carry without the trouble of picking any up. That is the way with these mountain people; they will give you something if they possibly can.Then they all said good-bye to each other, and Little Mitchell and the lady went on. They crossed the Watauga valley, which is easy enough, it is so narrow; then they crossed the Watauga River, which is hard enough, the bridge is so narrow, and so high up in the air, and wobbles so you are afraid of your life to go over it,—but you have to, or else stay on the wrong side of the river, which, you understand, is quite a river here, very swift and rather deep.But they got safely over the wobbly bridge, and went on through the forest,only stopping a few minutes to look at a birch-still.A birch-still is a place where they distil birch-oil out of birch-bark. Do you know how it is done? Well, you ought to, for you eat so much birch-oil. You don’t think you ever ate any birch-oil in your life? Oh, but Iknowyou have eaten it. I am perfectly sure you sometimes eat wintergreen candy and other things flavored with wintergreen. That is, you call it wintergreen; but it is not that at all, it is birch. You see the flavor is the same, and it is much easier to get it out of the birch.The way they do is to strip the bark from the young black-birch trees,—which of course kills the trees, and that is too bad; but they do it, and chop the bark into little pieces, which they put into a long wooden box with a zinc bottom.When the box is full of bark, they put in some water, and fit on the cover, and plaster all the cracks with clay until the box is air-tight,—all but a little round hole in the cover that has a lead pipe fitted into it.Then they build a fire in the fire-hole under the box, and soon the steam from the boiling water escapes through the pipe that is fitted in the cover. The pipe is coiled up in a barrel of water when it leaves the box, and is kept cool by a little stream of water which runs into the barrel all the time.Of course the steam that escapes through the pipe is turned back to water when it becomes cooled, passing through the coil in the barrel, and finally runs out of the other end of the pipe into a bottle. There is birch-oil in the steam that goes over, and the oil runs into the bottle with the water,but being heavier than water it sinks to the bottom of the bottle. When the bottle is full, the water runs out at the top; but when it gets full of oil, they do not allow that to run over,—they take away the bottle of oil and put an empty bottle in its place.Yes, I know that oil is said to float on water, and some oil does, but birch-oil is heavy, as I have told you, and sinks to the bottom.The people take the oil to the store and exchange it for shoes and calico and safety-pins, and all the things they need. The storekeeper sells the oil to the manufacturers, who purify it and make it into flavoring extracts, and then the druggists use it in making medicines and tooth-powder, and the candy-makers flavor some of their candies with it, and the perfumers mix it with other things to make perfumes and scented soap. A great deal ofthis oil comes from the North Carolina mountains, and is made in the woods, as I have told you.Well, when Little Mitchell’s lady had looked at the birch-still long enough, they went on until they got to Blowing Rock. And this is a very wonderful place.

IVLITTLE MITCHELL’S CAT NEIGHBORSPeterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah,—these were the cats. Peterkin and the lady had been great friends. Peterkin was a very proud cat and a very handsome one, dark and tiger-striped. He used to come into the lady’s room a great deal, and sometimes he would sleep all night on the couch under the window.When the lady got back from her visit to Mount Mitchell, Peterkin was glad, and ran up to her room; but, to his amazement, she did not invite him in. She even shut the door in his face.Peterkin walked off with his tail in the air, and never came to see heragain. She tried to explain, but it was no use; Peterkin never forgave her.He was a very wise cat, and likely enough, if she had shown Baby Mitchell to him, he would have understood and been very good; but she was afraid to risk it, for Baby Mitchell was such a tender little dot that if Peterkin had not understood, or had not understood soon enough, there might have been a sad ending to the little Black Mountain baby. For, you see, no matter how sorry Peterkin might have been after it was all over, or no matter how well he might have understood after he had done it, that wouldn’t have helped Baby Mitchell any after he had been eaten up. So Peterkin was gently but firmly refused admittance; and, as I said, he never got over it.Peterkin was a wise cat, but not so wise as his mother. Peterkin’s motherwas called Grandma, and she was the wisest cat I ever knew. She was a little cat, striped like Peterkin, but not handsome like him, for she had had a very hard time when she was young, and that perhaps is why she was so wise.She belonged to people who were not kind to her, and they often teased and hurt her, and they did not give her enough to eat. So she did not grow large nor handsome, because one must have the right kind of food and care when one is young in order to grow properly.But she learned a great deal about people and how to look out for herself; so when she came to live with the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife and catch mice for them, she was a wise little cat as well as a homely one.But they did not know she was homely, for they found out what aloving little heart she had, and how wise she was; and, you know, it doesn’t matter at all how homely you are if you are only loving and thoughtful and quick and kind. Indeed, you will seem quite beautiful to those about you,—more beautiful than if you looked prettier and were less kind and loving.So the little Grandma soon won the hearts of her new friends. Jack and Hallet were her grandchildren, and fine fellows they were, so big and black and striped,—real tiger-cats.It was strange that such a little cat as Grandma should have such large, handsome children and grandchildren; but then, you see, she might have been large and handsome herself if she had been properly cared for when she was young.Well, Grandma’s daughter Ann was the mother of Jack and Hallet. BeforeJack and Hallet were born their mother Ann was in great trouble, because every time before all but one of her kittens had mysteriously disappeared, and after a while that one disappeared too.She seemed to know that the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife were somehow to blame for this, for she had always had her kittens in the house, and had taken great pride in showing them to her human friends as soon as they were born. This time she and Grandma were noticed having a great consultation together; that means, you know, that they seemed to be talking it over. Finally, she and Grandma went off, Grandma leading the way.The gentleman wondered what it was all about, and watched them without their knowing it. Grandma led Lady Ann up the long hill backof the house to an old barn, way off where hay was stored. Into this barn they went, and in a nice soft bed of hay Jack and Hallet were born; and not a word did these two conspirators say to their human friends about the two handsome kits up in the old hay barn.But when the kittens were half grown,—too big to disappear, you know,—their mother proudly took them home and showed them to the gentleman and his wife, who were also very proud of them, they were so handsome.Well, they were Jack and Hallet, and they lived to be old and very well behaved cats, and they were always handsome. Little Goliah was Grandma’s own child; but he never was much of a kit, for Grandma was very old—that is, old for a cat—when he was born. She hid himaway until he was a big kit, for she wanted to save him from disappearing; and because he was her youngest he was also her favorite. Even after he was grown up, she would wash his face and brush his coat with her rough tongue. She treated him as though he were a little kitten until she died of old age.And Goliah was always a weak kit, and not nearly as large nor as handsome as the others, and not so very wise. But the gentleman’s wife took the best of care of him for Grandma’s sake.The very funniest, cunningest thing Grandma ever did was to bring the kit that sat on the sticky fly-paper to her mistress. This happened before Grandma got to be so old. The kitten was very young, and it was her grandchild, the child of her daughter Sue.One day the little fuzzy kit sat down on the sticky fly-paper that the girls who worked in the kitchen had left lying around. They had been forbidden to use it, for fear a kit might sit on it; and how they got the fly-paper anyway is a mystery. For the gentleman and his wife had built their pretty log-house away out in the mountains, thirty or forty miles from a railroad, and there were no shops in the mountains where one could go to buy things.Probably the fly-paper had been sent by mistake with the things ordered from the far-away big city. Things were always being sent by mistake.So the kit sat down on the fly-paper. Then it rolled over on it, trying to get loose.The girls took it up as soon as they saw it, but it was a dreadful-lookingkitten by the time they got it free. Its fur was all stuck together, and its paws and its ears and everything were terribly stuck up.Then its mother and Grandma tried to put it to rights, and they licked and licked and licked, but the more they licked the worse it looked. There was no doing anything with it.Finally the gentleman and his wife, who were in the sitting-room, heard Grandma crying very loudly at the door. They wondered what had happened, and opening the door saw Grandma on the step. She was talking very fast,—in hermeowtalk, you know,—and behind her stood Mother Sue with the kitten in her mouth.They had done all they could, and now they had come for help to the gentleman and his wife.Little Mitchell Washes his Face“Out there in the corn-field he climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and sat there and washed his face with his little hands.” (Page125)The gentleman was very angry when he saw the fix the kitten was in, and the careless girls in the kitchen got a good scolding, which I am sure they deserved. But before he took time to do any scolding, the gentleman got something that would soften the sticky stuff, and he and his wife very carefully cleaned the baby kitten’s fur, and then washed it with warm water and soap, and rubbed it dry. It was hours before they got that kitten put to rights.Well, those were the cats that lived around Baby Mitchell; and if he had only had a number of lives, no doubt the kittens could have been taught, after they had killed him a few times, that they must not hurt him. But as he had only one life, he couldn’t very well spare that; and so the kits had to be shut out of the room where he was.I think they knew he was there, for they used to smell about the door and act as kits do when they think thereis a mouse inside. Not that Baby Mitchell smelled at all like a mouse,—indeed, he was the sweetest, cleanest little dot that ever wore a fur coat,—never any unpleasant odor about him. But kits can smell so much sharper than we, that they no doubt knew there was some little chap in there, and they no doubt thought the little stranger needed their attention. For they were famous hunters, and caught all the mice on the place, as well as all the squirrels and birds they could, and even the rabbits.Of course it was too bad for them to catch the birds and squirrels; but they were not really to blame, for they did not know any better. They thought all little animals ought to be eaten up by kits, if kits could catch them.Not that they ever got very hungry, for they always had enough, and more than enough, in their plates aroundat the back of the kitchen. Every morning and evening, when the man brought the fresh milk, their dishes were filled, and when they heard him sing out, “Poos, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s,” they would come running out of the woods, or from under the house, or off the porch, or wherever they happened to be,—for no matter how many mice and squirrels and birds they had eaten they were always able to drink a little milk.It was fun to see their heads close together in the dish; only Goliah would never eat with the others. He had to have his dish separate, and sometimes he would not eat at all unless his mistress took him in the house and let him sit by her chair. He would not even eat the nice meat and things the gentleman’s wife gave the kits every day unless she fixed a plate for him all by himself.By this time you will have guessed that the gentleman’s wife was fond of kittens.Long ago, when Grandma was young, there were twenty kits to take care of. They were all Grandma’s children or grandchildren, and they accumulated before the gentleman’s wife could harden her heart enough to cause some of them to disappear when they were first born. Those were great days for the cats! And it was a sight to see them come running when the man brought in the milk and called “Poos, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s.”It was a sight, too, to see them go walking with the family. When the gentleman and his wife would start for a walk in the cool of the evening, all the kits would go tagging on behind, with their tails in the air, as proud as you please. But as years passed, some of them died of old age or otherwisedisappeared, until finally there were only Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah left,—a very harmonious family, all but Goliah, who was sometimes cross to the other kits, and would growl at them and slap their faces, which seemed to astonish them very much.Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah were the only cats that belonged there when Baby Mitchell appeared upon the scene. Not that Baby Mitchell was seen much, for he stayed in his lady’s room, with the door shut, all the time.But Billy came every day to drink the milk and eat the good things the other cats had. Billy belonged to the man who brought the milk, and he had plenty to eat at home. Still, he liked to come, and the gentleman’s wife let him, because he was related to Grandma too. He was a funny-lookingcat, rather square in shape, and he had a way of scratching with his hind legs, like a dog. He was cross to Goliah and would cuff him when he got a chance.Then there was Lady Jane. He had one white eye and a torn ear. He was a very dissipated-looking cat, and he had evidently fought a great many fights. Why he was called Lady Jane, I am sure I do not know. He was not related to Grandma, and nobody knew where he came from. He did not fight the kits that belonged to the gentleman’s wife, at least not when he came to get something to eat. And though she did not like his looks, the gentleman’s wife was too kind-hearted to drive him away.When summer was over, the gentleman and his wife went away to their other home in a Northern city;but you must not suppose they left their cats to suffer. No, indeed! The kits had a warm house of their own to sleep in, and there was a little door left open at the back of it so that they could go into the kitchen if they wanted to. They were good neat cats, that never abused this privilege.Every day, all winter long, the man came with fresh milk, night and morning, and called “P-ooo-s, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s.” And two or three times a week they had fresh meat, or, best of all, canned salmon. The gentleman left a whole case of salmon for them every year, and they loved it better than anything else,—for you know cats are very fond of fish. Some cats will even go fishing for themselves if they live near the water.Little Mitchell Likes Chinkapins“He sat on the Lady’s knee and cracked chinkapins, and would give the shells a toss that sent them far away.” (Page132)Baby Mitchell’s lady once had a cat whose name was Little Man Friday, and he would catch his own fish out of a little bayou that came up from the Gulf of Mexico, on whose shore the lady lived. For Little Man Friday was a Florida cat, and perhaps some day you may like to hear his story, and how he got his name.Grandma and the other kits knew perfectly well when the gentleman and his wife were packing their trunks to go North, and it made the poor kits very unhappy. It made Grandma so dreadfully unhappy toward the end of her life that they used to do it slyly, and not let her see the preparations for going away.Well, there isn’t any more about Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah. They came into the story only because they lived in Baby Mitchell’s house—no, Baby Mitchell lived in their house a little while, and they didn’t eat him up, although they were such near neighbors.

LITTLE MITCHELL’S CAT NEIGHBORS

Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah,—these were the cats. Peterkin and the lady had been great friends. Peterkin was a very proud cat and a very handsome one, dark and tiger-striped. He used to come into the lady’s room a great deal, and sometimes he would sleep all night on the couch under the window.

When the lady got back from her visit to Mount Mitchell, Peterkin was glad, and ran up to her room; but, to his amazement, she did not invite him in. She even shut the door in his face.

Peterkin walked off with his tail in the air, and never came to see heragain. She tried to explain, but it was no use; Peterkin never forgave her.

He was a very wise cat, and likely enough, if she had shown Baby Mitchell to him, he would have understood and been very good; but she was afraid to risk it, for Baby Mitchell was such a tender little dot that if Peterkin had not understood, or had not understood soon enough, there might have been a sad ending to the little Black Mountain baby. For, you see, no matter how sorry Peterkin might have been after it was all over, or no matter how well he might have understood after he had done it, that wouldn’t have helped Baby Mitchell any after he had been eaten up. So Peterkin was gently but firmly refused admittance; and, as I said, he never got over it.

Peterkin was a wise cat, but not so wise as his mother. Peterkin’s motherwas called Grandma, and she was the wisest cat I ever knew. She was a little cat, striped like Peterkin, but not handsome like him, for she had had a very hard time when she was young, and that perhaps is why she was so wise.

She belonged to people who were not kind to her, and they often teased and hurt her, and they did not give her enough to eat. So she did not grow large nor handsome, because one must have the right kind of food and care when one is young in order to grow properly.

But she learned a great deal about people and how to look out for herself; so when she came to live with the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife and catch mice for them, she was a wise little cat as well as a homely one.

But they did not know she was homely, for they found out what aloving little heart she had, and how wise she was; and, you know, it doesn’t matter at all how homely you are if you are only loving and thoughtful and quick and kind. Indeed, you will seem quite beautiful to those about you,—more beautiful than if you looked prettier and were less kind and loving.

So the little Grandma soon won the hearts of her new friends. Jack and Hallet were her grandchildren, and fine fellows they were, so big and black and striped,—real tiger-cats.

It was strange that such a little cat as Grandma should have such large, handsome children and grandchildren; but then, you see, she might have been large and handsome herself if she had been properly cared for when she was young.

Well, Grandma’s daughter Ann was the mother of Jack and Hallet. BeforeJack and Hallet were born their mother Ann was in great trouble, because every time before all but one of her kittens had mysteriously disappeared, and after a while that one disappeared too.

She seemed to know that the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife were somehow to blame for this, for she had always had her kittens in the house, and had taken great pride in showing them to her human friends as soon as they were born. This time she and Grandma were noticed having a great consultation together; that means, you know, that they seemed to be talking it over. Finally, she and Grandma went off, Grandma leading the way.

The gentleman wondered what it was all about, and watched them without their knowing it. Grandma led Lady Ann up the long hill backof the house to an old barn, way off where hay was stored. Into this barn they went, and in a nice soft bed of hay Jack and Hallet were born; and not a word did these two conspirators say to their human friends about the two handsome kits up in the old hay barn.

But when the kittens were half grown,—too big to disappear, you know,—their mother proudly took them home and showed them to the gentleman and his wife, who were also very proud of them, they were so handsome.

Well, they were Jack and Hallet, and they lived to be old and very well behaved cats, and they were always handsome. Little Goliah was Grandma’s own child; but he never was much of a kit, for Grandma was very old—that is, old for a cat—when he was born. She hid himaway until he was a big kit, for she wanted to save him from disappearing; and because he was her youngest he was also her favorite. Even after he was grown up, she would wash his face and brush his coat with her rough tongue. She treated him as though he were a little kitten until she died of old age.

And Goliah was always a weak kit, and not nearly as large nor as handsome as the others, and not so very wise. But the gentleman’s wife took the best of care of him for Grandma’s sake.

The very funniest, cunningest thing Grandma ever did was to bring the kit that sat on the sticky fly-paper to her mistress. This happened before Grandma got to be so old. The kitten was very young, and it was her grandchild, the child of her daughter Sue.

One day the little fuzzy kit sat down on the sticky fly-paper that the girls who worked in the kitchen had left lying around. They had been forbidden to use it, for fear a kit might sit on it; and how they got the fly-paper anyway is a mystery. For the gentleman and his wife had built their pretty log-house away out in the mountains, thirty or forty miles from a railroad, and there were no shops in the mountains where one could go to buy things.

Probably the fly-paper had been sent by mistake with the things ordered from the far-away big city. Things were always being sent by mistake.

So the kit sat down on the fly-paper. Then it rolled over on it, trying to get loose.

The girls took it up as soon as they saw it, but it was a dreadful-lookingkitten by the time they got it free. Its fur was all stuck together, and its paws and its ears and everything were terribly stuck up.

Then its mother and Grandma tried to put it to rights, and they licked and licked and licked, but the more they licked the worse it looked. There was no doing anything with it.

Finally the gentleman and his wife, who were in the sitting-room, heard Grandma crying very loudly at the door. They wondered what had happened, and opening the door saw Grandma on the step. She was talking very fast,—in hermeowtalk, you know,—and behind her stood Mother Sue with the kitten in her mouth.

They had done all they could, and now they had come for help to the gentleman and his wife.

Little Mitchell Washes his Face“Out there in the corn-field he climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and sat there and washed his face with his little hands.” (Page125)

Little Mitchell Washes his Face“Out there in the corn-field he climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and sat there and washed his face with his little hands.” (Page125)

Little Mitchell Washes his Face

“Out there in the corn-field he climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and sat there and washed his face with his little hands.” (Page125)

The gentleman was very angry when he saw the fix the kitten was in, and the careless girls in the kitchen got a good scolding, which I am sure they deserved. But before he took time to do any scolding, the gentleman got something that would soften the sticky stuff, and he and his wife very carefully cleaned the baby kitten’s fur, and then washed it with warm water and soap, and rubbed it dry. It was hours before they got that kitten put to rights.

Well, those were the cats that lived around Baby Mitchell; and if he had only had a number of lives, no doubt the kittens could have been taught, after they had killed him a few times, that they must not hurt him. But as he had only one life, he couldn’t very well spare that; and so the kits had to be shut out of the room where he was.

I think they knew he was there, for they used to smell about the door and act as kits do when they think thereis a mouse inside. Not that Baby Mitchell smelled at all like a mouse,—indeed, he was the sweetest, cleanest little dot that ever wore a fur coat,—never any unpleasant odor about him. But kits can smell so much sharper than we, that they no doubt knew there was some little chap in there, and they no doubt thought the little stranger needed their attention. For they were famous hunters, and caught all the mice on the place, as well as all the squirrels and birds they could, and even the rabbits.

Of course it was too bad for them to catch the birds and squirrels; but they were not really to blame, for they did not know any better. They thought all little animals ought to be eaten up by kits, if kits could catch them.

Not that they ever got very hungry, for they always had enough, and more than enough, in their plates aroundat the back of the kitchen. Every morning and evening, when the man brought the fresh milk, their dishes were filled, and when they heard him sing out, “Poos, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s,” they would come running out of the woods, or from under the house, or off the porch, or wherever they happened to be,—for no matter how many mice and squirrels and birds they had eaten they were always able to drink a little milk.

It was fun to see their heads close together in the dish; only Goliah would never eat with the others. He had to have his dish separate, and sometimes he would not eat at all unless his mistress took him in the house and let him sit by her chair. He would not even eat the nice meat and things the gentleman’s wife gave the kits every day unless she fixed a plate for him all by himself.

By this time you will have guessed that the gentleman’s wife was fond of kittens.

Long ago, when Grandma was young, there were twenty kits to take care of. They were all Grandma’s children or grandchildren, and they accumulated before the gentleman’s wife could harden her heart enough to cause some of them to disappear when they were first born. Those were great days for the cats! And it was a sight to see them come running when the man brought in the milk and called “Poos, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s.”

It was a sight, too, to see them go walking with the family. When the gentleman and his wife would start for a walk in the cool of the evening, all the kits would go tagging on behind, with their tails in the air, as proud as you please. But as years passed, some of them died of old age or otherwisedisappeared, until finally there were only Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah left,—a very harmonious family, all but Goliah, who was sometimes cross to the other kits, and would growl at them and slap their faces, which seemed to astonish them very much.

Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah were the only cats that belonged there when Baby Mitchell appeared upon the scene. Not that Baby Mitchell was seen much, for he stayed in his lady’s room, with the door shut, all the time.

But Billy came every day to drink the milk and eat the good things the other cats had. Billy belonged to the man who brought the milk, and he had plenty to eat at home. Still, he liked to come, and the gentleman’s wife let him, because he was related to Grandma too. He was a funny-lookingcat, rather square in shape, and he had a way of scratching with his hind legs, like a dog. He was cross to Goliah and would cuff him when he got a chance.

Then there was Lady Jane. He had one white eye and a torn ear. He was a very dissipated-looking cat, and he had evidently fought a great many fights. Why he was called Lady Jane, I am sure I do not know. He was not related to Grandma, and nobody knew where he came from. He did not fight the kits that belonged to the gentleman’s wife, at least not when he came to get something to eat. And though she did not like his looks, the gentleman’s wife was too kind-hearted to drive him away.

When summer was over, the gentleman and his wife went away to their other home in a Northern city;but you must not suppose they left their cats to suffer. No, indeed! The kits had a warm house of their own to sleep in, and there was a little door left open at the back of it so that they could go into the kitchen if they wanted to. They were good neat cats, that never abused this privilege.

Every day, all winter long, the man came with fresh milk, night and morning, and called “P-ooo-s, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s.” And two or three times a week they had fresh meat, or, best of all, canned salmon. The gentleman left a whole case of salmon for them every year, and they loved it better than anything else,—for you know cats are very fond of fish. Some cats will even go fishing for themselves if they live near the water.

Little Mitchell Likes Chinkapins“He sat on the Lady’s knee and cracked chinkapins, and would give the shells a toss that sent them far away.” (Page132)

Little Mitchell Likes Chinkapins“He sat on the Lady’s knee and cracked chinkapins, and would give the shells a toss that sent them far away.” (Page132)

Little Mitchell Likes Chinkapins

“He sat on the Lady’s knee and cracked chinkapins, and would give the shells a toss that sent them far away.” (Page132)

Baby Mitchell’s lady once had a cat whose name was Little Man Friday, and he would catch his own fish out of a little bayou that came up from the Gulf of Mexico, on whose shore the lady lived. For Little Man Friday was a Florida cat, and perhaps some day you may like to hear his story, and how he got his name.

Grandma and the other kits knew perfectly well when the gentleman and his wife were packing their trunks to go North, and it made the poor kits very unhappy. It made Grandma so dreadfully unhappy toward the end of her life that they used to do it slyly, and not let her see the preparations for going away.

Well, there isn’t any more about Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah. They came into the story only because they lived in Baby Mitchell’s house—no, Baby Mitchell lived in their house a little while, and they didn’t eat him up, although they were such near neighbors.

VLITTLE MITCHELL STARTS OUT TO SEE THE WORLDItwas soon time for Little Mitchell’s lady to go back to her home in Boston.“What are you going to do with that little squirrel?” asked her friend the gentleman in whose house she stayed.“I shall try to take him with me,” said she.“Of course you will,” said her friend the gentleman’s wife. She knew how it is about kittens, you see, and how you get attached to them and do not like to give them away to other people who may not always remember to take good care of them.So the lady told Little Mitchell he should go to Boston with her. He didn’t say whether he wanted to go or not, but of course he did want to go,—for what could the little fellow have done without his lady? He was still such a baby, and slept more than anything else, and still drank his milk out of a spoon as you drink out of a tumbler. But how he did hate to have his mouth wiped! When he had done drinking milk, his lady would wipe his mouth off on a soft napkin, and he never forgot to scream and cry when she did it. He was like some other naughty children.Oh no, he didn’t like to have a dirty face,—that wasn’t it. But he liked to wipe his mouth himself, and the trouble is he wouldn’t always wipe it in the right place. Sometimes he would wipe it on the napkin, like a good little squirrel; but he preferredto squirm out of his lady’s hand and wipe it on her dress, and of course she did not like that.She would often give him a drink of cold water, and he seemed to enjoy that almost as much as the milk, though the gentleman said he ought not to have it, for his own mother would not have given him cold water. But the lady only laughed, and said the reason that mother squirrels did not give their babies cold water was because they had no tumblers in which to carry it.Anyway, he enjoyed the cold water, and he grew fast, and seemed a very healthy, happy little fellow; and if he ever had a stomach-ache he said nothing at all about it. So I do not believe he ever had one, for if anything was really the matter with him he was quick enough to make a fuss.The day came at last for the ladyto say good-bye to her dear friends, the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife, and Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah, and Sally and Lenoir.Who were Sally and Lenoir? Why, don’t you know? Sally was the white horse with the long mane, and when the long forelock was parted down over her face she looked just like the beautiful picture of Rosa Bonheur’s horse; and Lenoir was the black horse, just as handsome as Sally, but not so famous-looking.The gentleman and the gentleman’s wife said good-bye to Little Mitchell; but Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah did not, for they were not allowed to. The lady gave Peterkin a kiss on the top of his head between his ears, because she liked him very much and felt sorry that he was offended with her.Then the man who was to drive herand Little Mitchell away in the carriage snapped his whip, the two mules started off at a trot down the driveway, and Little Mitchell and the lady were off,—not exactly for Boston, because they had to go to a good many places before they could get there.And first, they had to go to Grandfather Mountain.Of course they took a long and lovely drive that day, but there were no deep rivers to cross, only some dear little streams, all ripply and shiny where the sun got through to them under the tall trees.After a while they came to a schoolhouse, buried deep in the shady forest. It was not vacation, and as it was recess, all the little barefooted boys and girls stood and looked at the carriage and the lady and the driver.It was not often that anybody passed the schoolhouse on that lonely road,and they were very much interested. The lady was very much interested too. They were such bright, pretty little barefooted people. So she got out and spoke to the schoolmaster, and to the children, who gathered shyly about her and looked into her face so sweetly that she wanted to kiss them all.After the lady and Little Mitchell and the driver had gone ever so far past the schoolhouse, they stopped for dinner. The mules had some corn and some dried corn-leaves to eat, and the lady had sandwiches and cake and jam and lots of other good things out of a box that the gentleman’s wife had given her; and the driver had all he wanted too. But of course Little Mitchell had condensed milk again; the gentleman’s wife had given the lady a nice fresh can of it for him. When he hadeaten his dinner, he stretched out on his lady’s knee and took a sun-bath and a nap while she read in a book.Then he was put back in his little box, and they all went on again, through more lovely forests and over the Blue Ridge Mountain, which is not so very high along here. The road was rather rough and steep in places; but you know what a sleepy-head Little Mitchell was, so the jolting of the carriage did not wake him up.Well, toward night they got to a little hotel near the beautiful Linville Falls. Here they stayed until next morning; but Little Mitchell did not sleep in a feather-bed this time, because, you know, he had his own little box, with nice warm cotton to cuddle down in.Of course the children who lived here had to have a peep at the funnylittle fellow. The children’s mother gave him some milk for his supper, and then the lady put him to bed.Next morning the lady and Little Mitchell and the driver went on, and at noon they had their dinner again by the roadside, and Little Mitchell again had his condensed milk, and screamed as naughty as could be when his mouth was wiped, and stretched himself on his lady’s knee in the sun.Toward night they climbed a long sloping road up the side of the Grandfather Mountain. It was a beautiful smooth road, not at all jolty; and soon they came to a white house on the mountain side, the only house for several miles.Here the driver left them and returned to his own home; but Little Mitchell and the lady stayed there several days.Little Mitchell did not care about the beauty of the mountains, but the lady did. She used to go out and walk, and leave him at home asleep. Sometimes she walked up toward the top of the great Grandfather Mountain,—that rocky top, as black as ink, which you can see miles and miles away. It is black because the sharp rocky ridge wears a dress of lichens as black as coals. I don’t know why such black lichens grow all over Grandfather’s top, but they do, and below the black rocks is a wide belt of dark green balsam firs that you know look black in the distance; so it is a very stern-looking Grandfather Mountain indeed.Why is it called the Grandfather Mountain?Well, if you walk along a road that is at the north side of it you will come to a place where you can look acrossand see standing out from the side of the mountain a great stone face, like the face of an old, old man; and it is from this profile the mountain gets its name.Where Little Mitchell’s lady walked down in the woods below, it was not black at all, but very bright and sweet, with fine trees growing; for it is only near the top that the balsam firs are found.Some of the forest leaves had already changed their color; for it was early fall now, and the woods were all golden in the sunshine, and the yellow witch hazel was everywhere in bloom.Along the edges of the road were little piles of acorn shells. These were the work of the squirrel folk. They had shelled out the green acorns, and of course they must have eaten the inside part, or kernel. Every little pile of shells showed where a squirrel had sat and eaten acorns, or perhaps he had been on a limb of the tree above and dropped the shells down.Little Mitchell on a Frolic“Hop, hop, went Little Mitchell, all up and down the room.” (Page142)The lady tasted one of the green acorns, but it was so bitter and puckery she made up a queer face over it. But she put some of the acorns in her pocket for Little Mitchell. Since the other squirrels liked them so much, she thought perhaps he would like them too; but when she gave them to him he only played with them, and did not even try to eat one.It was about this time that Little Mitchell began to sit up. Such a funny, floppy sitting up as it was! He did not hold his back up straight, but got himself all into a queer little heap, and the best he could do was to keep from tumbling over. But no doubt he felt very proud of himself,and imagined he was a big grown-up squirrel.He wasn’t, though, for he could not crack even an acorn; and he still drank milk, though he had learned to love sugar cookies. His lady would give him a little piece of one, and he liked it so much he almost choked himself to death trying to stuff it down his throat too fast.You may know what a baby he was when I tell you how he ran into the fireplace.The first time he tried it, there was no fire there, and he started to go up the chimney, and his lady caught him just in time and pulled him down all black and sooty.The next time there was a fire; but that didn’t matter to Little Mitchell. He ran right into it, and burned the whiskers all off one side of his face, and the lady snatched himout just in time to prevent his poor little nose from getting burned too. He was so surprised that he didn’t even try to get out. You see, he wassucha baby!Of course he slept in his little box of cotton, and one cold night his lady was awakened in the middle of the night by a great commotion. She heard something scratching frantically somewhere, and Little Mitchell was screaming and crying like everything.She jumped up and got a light, and there was Little Mitchell’s box wiggling about as though bewitched. He was inside, scratching and thumping about and crying with all his might. Whatcouldbe the matter?You remember it was a cold night, and the lady concluded the little fellow was cold, and so she took him out. The moment he got into her warm hand, he stopped crying; so,not knowing what else to do, she took him to bed with her, and he curled down at her side under her hand and went to sleep like a good little kitten.When he woke up in the morning, what do you think he did? He licked his lady’s hand first; then he began to play with her fingers, making believe to bite them, and patting them with his little paws and jumping away just as a kitten does.They had a real good frolic. Little Mitchell would scamper down to the foot of the bed under the covers, then come creeping up until close to the lady’s hand, when she would poke it at him and he would scurry off again.So he kept on playing until it was time to get up; then the lady left him alone, all covered up in the warm bed, and he curled right up and went to sleep until she was ready to go downstairs,when she put him in his little box, which he didn’t like at all, you may be sure. But there was a fire now, so the room was warm; and soon his lady brought him his breakfast of warm milk and a little piece of sugar cooky.Of course the lady always remembered the baby bunny asleep in his nest at home, when she went out to walk; and if she saw anything she thought he would like, she brought it home to him.One day she brought him some chestnuts. They were the very first ones to get ripe. Indeed, they were not ripe enough to fall out of their burrs of themselves; but when their burrs were pounded open with a stone, out they slipped, fine, fat, shiny brown ones. And so big they were! That is because they grew on the dear and lovely Grandmother Mountain, whichyou know is not so high as Grandfather Mountain, but close to it, and very beautiful, covered with all sorts of delightful growths. And its chestnutsareso big! They grow on little low trees, so little you would hardly expect to find any nuts on them; but their tops are just covered with big, round, splendid burrs full of big, plump, brown nuts that are as sweet as any nuts can be. The lady took some of these nuts home, but she did not give them to Little Mitchell until she had roasted them in the hot ashes and made them quite soft. Then she gave him one, and the baby took it in his hands, and sat up as well as he could, and looked very wise indeed. But he was just making believe, for he didn’t know in the least what to do with that nut. He sniffed at it, but seemed to have no idea what was inside, until the lady opened it forhim. Then he ate a piece of it, gnawing it with his four little front teeth, and liked it very much.Every day after that he had roasted chestnuts with his milk.Oh yes, indeed, he soon learned to know them with the shell on, and to take it off too. He would bite it loose, and then give it a fling that sent it ever so far.Thus they lived and had good times on the side of the beautiful Grandfather Mountain for more than a week. Then one day the lady’s trunk was taken off by a mule team to Blowing Rock; but she and Little Mitchell did not go with it. They went around on the other side of the mountain.

LITTLE MITCHELL STARTS OUT TO SEE THE WORLD

Itwas soon time for Little Mitchell’s lady to go back to her home in Boston.

“What are you going to do with that little squirrel?” asked her friend the gentleman in whose house she stayed.

“I shall try to take him with me,” said she.

“Of course you will,” said her friend the gentleman’s wife. She knew how it is about kittens, you see, and how you get attached to them and do not like to give them away to other people who may not always remember to take good care of them.

So the lady told Little Mitchell he should go to Boston with her. He didn’t say whether he wanted to go or not, but of course he did want to go,—for what could the little fellow have done without his lady? He was still such a baby, and slept more than anything else, and still drank his milk out of a spoon as you drink out of a tumbler. But how he did hate to have his mouth wiped! When he had done drinking milk, his lady would wipe his mouth off on a soft napkin, and he never forgot to scream and cry when she did it. He was like some other naughty children.

Oh no, he didn’t like to have a dirty face,—that wasn’t it. But he liked to wipe his mouth himself, and the trouble is he wouldn’t always wipe it in the right place. Sometimes he would wipe it on the napkin, like a good little squirrel; but he preferredto squirm out of his lady’s hand and wipe it on her dress, and of course she did not like that.

She would often give him a drink of cold water, and he seemed to enjoy that almost as much as the milk, though the gentleman said he ought not to have it, for his own mother would not have given him cold water. But the lady only laughed, and said the reason that mother squirrels did not give their babies cold water was because they had no tumblers in which to carry it.

Anyway, he enjoyed the cold water, and he grew fast, and seemed a very healthy, happy little fellow; and if he ever had a stomach-ache he said nothing at all about it. So I do not believe he ever had one, for if anything was really the matter with him he was quick enough to make a fuss.

The day came at last for the ladyto say good-bye to her dear friends, the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife, and Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah, and Sally and Lenoir.

Who were Sally and Lenoir? Why, don’t you know? Sally was the white horse with the long mane, and when the long forelock was parted down over her face she looked just like the beautiful picture of Rosa Bonheur’s horse; and Lenoir was the black horse, just as handsome as Sally, but not so famous-looking.

The gentleman and the gentleman’s wife said good-bye to Little Mitchell; but Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah did not, for they were not allowed to. The lady gave Peterkin a kiss on the top of his head between his ears, because she liked him very much and felt sorry that he was offended with her.

Then the man who was to drive herand Little Mitchell away in the carriage snapped his whip, the two mules started off at a trot down the driveway, and Little Mitchell and the lady were off,—not exactly for Boston, because they had to go to a good many places before they could get there.

And first, they had to go to Grandfather Mountain.

Of course they took a long and lovely drive that day, but there were no deep rivers to cross, only some dear little streams, all ripply and shiny where the sun got through to them under the tall trees.

After a while they came to a schoolhouse, buried deep in the shady forest. It was not vacation, and as it was recess, all the little barefooted boys and girls stood and looked at the carriage and the lady and the driver.

It was not often that anybody passed the schoolhouse on that lonely road,and they were very much interested. The lady was very much interested too. They were such bright, pretty little barefooted people. So she got out and spoke to the schoolmaster, and to the children, who gathered shyly about her and looked into her face so sweetly that she wanted to kiss them all.

After the lady and Little Mitchell and the driver had gone ever so far past the schoolhouse, they stopped for dinner. The mules had some corn and some dried corn-leaves to eat, and the lady had sandwiches and cake and jam and lots of other good things out of a box that the gentleman’s wife had given her; and the driver had all he wanted too. But of course Little Mitchell had condensed milk again; the gentleman’s wife had given the lady a nice fresh can of it for him. When he hadeaten his dinner, he stretched out on his lady’s knee and took a sun-bath and a nap while she read in a book.

Then he was put back in his little box, and they all went on again, through more lovely forests and over the Blue Ridge Mountain, which is not so very high along here. The road was rather rough and steep in places; but you know what a sleepy-head Little Mitchell was, so the jolting of the carriage did not wake him up.

Well, toward night they got to a little hotel near the beautiful Linville Falls. Here they stayed until next morning; but Little Mitchell did not sleep in a feather-bed this time, because, you know, he had his own little box, with nice warm cotton to cuddle down in.

Of course the children who lived here had to have a peep at the funnylittle fellow. The children’s mother gave him some milk for his supper, and then the lady put him to bed.

Next morning the lady and Little Mitchell and the driver went on, and at noon they had their dinner again by the roadside, and Little Mitchell again had his condensed milk, and screamed as naughty as could be when his mouth was wiped, and stretched himself on his lady’s knee in the sun.

Toward night they climbed a long sloping road up the side of the Grandfather Mountain. It was a beautiful smooth road, not at all jolty; and soon they came to a white house on the mountain side, the only house for several miles.

Here the driver left them and returned to his own home; but Little Mitchell and the lady stayed there several days.

Little Mitchell did not care about the beauty of the mountains, but the lady did. She used to go out and walk, and leave him at home asleep. Sometimes she walked up toward the top of the great Grandfather Mountain,—that rocky top, as black as ink, which you can see miles and miles away. It is black because the sharp rocky ridge wears a dress of lichens as black as coals. I don’t know why such black lichens grow all over Grandfather’s top, but they do, and below the black rocks is a wide belt of dark green balsam firs that you know look black in the distance; so it is a very stern-looking Grandfather Mountain indeed.

Why is it called the Grandfather Mountain?

Well, if you walk along a road that is at the north side of it you will come to a place where you can look acrossand see standing out from the side of the mountain a great stone face, like the face of an old, old man; and it is from this profile the mountain gets its name.

Where Little Mitchell’s lady walked down in the woods below, it was not black at all, but very bright and sweet, with fine trees growing; for it is only near the top that the balsam firs are found.

Some of the forest leaves had already changed their color; for it was early fall now, and the woods were all golden in the sunshine, and the yellow witch hazel was everywhere in bloom.

Along the edges of the road were little piles of acorn shells. These were the work of the squirrel folk. They had shelled out the green acorns, and of course they must have eaten the inside part, or kernel. Every little pile of shells showed where a squirrel had sat and eaten acorns, or perhaps he had been on a limb of the tree above and dropped the shells down.

Little Mitchell on a Frolic“Hop, hop, went Little Mitchell, all up and down the room.” (Page142)

Little Mitchell on a Frolic“Hop, hop, went Little Mitchell, all up and down the room.” (Page142)

Little Mitchell on a Frolic

“Hop, hop, went Little Mitchell, all up and down the room.” (Page142)

The lady tasted one of the green acorns, but it was so bitter and puckery she made up a queer face over it. But she put some of the acorns in her pocket for Little Mitchell. Since the other squirrels liked them so much, she thought perhaps he would like them too; but when she gave them to him he only played with them, and did not even try to eat one.

It was about this time that Little Mitchell began to sit up. Such a funny, floppy sitting up as it was! He did not hold his back up straight, but got himself all into a queer little heap, and the best he could do was to keep from tumbling over. But no doubt he felt very proud of himself,and imagined he was a big grown-up squirrel.

He wasn’t, though, for he could not crack even an acorn; and he still drank milk, though he had learned to love sugar cookies. His lady would give him a little piece of one, and he liked it so much he almost choked himself to death trying to stuff it down his throat too fast.

You may know what a baby he was when I tell you how he ran into the fireplace.

The first time he tried it, there was no fire there, and he started to go up the chimney, and his lady caught him just in time and pulled him down all black and sooty.

The next time there was a fire; but that didn’t matter to Little Mitchell. He ran right into it, and burned the whiskers all off one side of his face, and the lady snatched himout just in time to prevent his poor little nose from getting burned too. He was so surprised that he didn’t even try to get out. You see, he wassucha baby!

Of course he slept in his little box of cotton, and one cold night his lady was awakened in the middle of the night by a great commotion. She heard something scratching frantically somewhere, and Little Mitchell was screaming and crying like everything.

She jumped up and got a light, and there was Little Mitchell’s box wiggling about as though bewitched. He was inside, scratching and thumping about and crying with all his might. Whatcouldbe the matter?

You remember it was a cold night, and the lady concluded the little fellow was cold, and so she took him out. The moment he got into her warm hand, he stopped crying; so,not knowing what else to do, she took him to bed with her, and he curled down at her side under her hand and went to sleep like a good little kitten.

When he woke up in the morning, what do you think he did? He licked his lady’s hand first; then he began to play with her fingers, making believe to bite them, and patting them with his little paws and jumping away just as a kitten does.

They had a real good frolic. Little Mitchell would scamper down to the foot of the bed under the covers, then come creeping up until close to the lady’s hand, when she would poke it at him and he would scurry off again.

So he kept on playing until it was time to get up; then the lady left him alone, all covered up in the warm bed, and he curled right up and went to sleep until she was ready to go downstairs,when she put him in his little box, which he didn’t like at all, you may be sure. But there was a fire now, so the room was warm; and soon his lady brought him his breakfast of warm milk and a little piece of sugar cooky.

Of course the lady always remembered the baby bunny asleep in his nest at home, when she went out to walk; and if she saw anything she thought he would like, she brought it home to him.

One day she brought him some chestnuts. They were the very first ones to get ripe. Indeed, they were not ripe enough to fall out of their burrs of themselves; but when their burrs were pounded open with a stone, out they slipped, fine, fat, shiny brown ones. And so big they were! That is because they grew on the dear and lovely Grandmother Mountain, whichyou know is not so high as Grandfather Mountain, but close to it, and very beautiful, covered with all sorts of delightful growths. And its chestnutsareso big! They grow on little low trees, so little you would hardly expect to find any nuts on them; but their tops are just covered with big, round, splendid burrs full of big, plump, brown nuts that are as sweet as any nuts can be. The lady took some of these nuts home, but she did not give them to Little Mitchell until she had roasted them in the hot ashes and made them quite soft. Then she gave him one, and the baby took it in his hands, and sat up as well as he could, and looked very wise indeed. But he was just making believe, for he didn’t know in the least what to do with that nut. He sniffed at it, but seemed to have no idea what was inside, until the lady opened it forhim. Then he ate a piece of it, gnawing it with his four little front teeth, and liked it very much.

Every day after that he had roasted chestnuts with his milk.

Oh yes, indeed, he soon learned to know them with the shell on, and to take it off too. He would bite it loose, and then give it a fling that sent it ever so far.

Thus they lived and had good times on the side of the beautiful Grandfather Mountain for more than a week. Then one day the lady’s trunk was taken off by a mule team to Blowing Rock; but she and Little Mitchell did not go with it. They went around on the other side of the mountain.

VILITTLE MITCHELL REFUSES TO LEAVE HIS LADYLittle Mitchellin his box, and the lady on her two feet, started off to go to the other side of Grandfather Mountain. They were on the south side now, you know, and they wanted to get to the north side.The way is to go across a sheep pasture, and climb a fence, and go across an old garden, or what once was a garden, and climb another fence, and then you are in the wild woods, with a pretty winding path in front of you and service trees overhead dropping down ripe red berries for you to eat, if you go at the right time of year. Little Mitchell and his lady were too late for the berries, butthey went along under the pretty service trees.Well, you go on down the path into the deep, deep forest, with the big old oaks and beeches and other trees about you, and the sunbeams dancing in and out, making the forest all motley like the skin of a leopard.You go down steeper and steeper, until you come to the end of the path and enter a road that runs at right angles to it.It is a fearful road, full of loose stones and great rocks, such as you find in the bed of a stream. Indeed, it is the dry bed of a stream, and the stream itself, in another bed near by, is the very beginning of the Linville River, and you keep having to cross over the river any way you can, by jumping from stone to stone, and sometimes slipping off and getting wet.Sometimes this queer road runs rightup the river bed; and then you walk along the edge of it, along a winding path through the rhododendrons.There were some mountain people going along the road when Little Mitchell and the lady got to it that day. There were a man, a boy, a horse and wagon, and two young girls; and they were all walking, because it was easier to walk than to go tilting and jolting and jiggling over all those stones. Besides, the horse was not strong enough to pull anything but the wagon over such a road, and so they showed Little Mitchell’s lady how to get across the young Linville by jumping on the stones.Little Mitchell was asleep in his box, which of course the lady carried as carefully as she could, so that he didn’t know nor care anything about all this.They went gayly along together,until they got to the house where Little Mitchell’s lady was to stop. It was a wild place, close to the great Grandfather Mountain; but it was very sweet, with the fresh air and the tinkly stream across the road in front of the house.The stream was not the Linville,—they had left that behind. It was the beginning of the Watauga River, that flows in exactly the opposite direction from the Linville, and has trout hiding in its pools.The house stands on such a steep slope! You look out of the front windows across the narrow Watauga valley, which is nothing but a gorge here, and see the Grandfather Mountain rising up like a tremendous wall all covered with trees.Little Mitchell in his Box“There he lay on his back, like a hot, tired, human little baby.” (Page152)But back of the house, where the trees have been cut away, the steep slopes are just covered with wild strawberries. Such big, sweet berries! Why, they are as big as your thumb; mind, I say as big asyourthumb, not as big as mine, which is quite another matter. But anyway they are big enough. Of course there were none then,—it was too late; but in the early summer I should like to see you climb that slope without wetting your feet in strawberry juice! You couldn’t do it, they are so thick. And sweet?—Well, you should just taste them!Little Mitchell and his lady stayed all night in the house at the foot of the strawberry slope, and the people who lived there were pleased, for they knew Little Mitchell’s lady, and were glad to see him too. They thought him the cunningest baby they had ever seen. He ran about the room, and climbed on the table, and washed his face, and played with his lady, and looked up the big stone chimney. Healmost had a mind to run up it; but his lady said no, so he ate his supper of roasted chestnuts and fresh milk, and went to bed in his little box.Next morning the woman who kept the house went with Little Mitchell and his lady on a lovely walk over the mountains to where her mother lived.When noon came, they were only half-way there; so they sat down on a sweet mountain-side, to rest and eat, and Little Mitchell’s lady took him out of his box and gave him sugar cooky and roasted chestnuts for his dinner. She thought he could get along without milk now for a little while, because it was so hard to carry it.He had grown to be quite a squirrel by this time, and the lady thought that perhaps he was old enough to care for himself, and would like to be set free in the woods, which is the besthome for the little squirrel-folk, you know.So she looked at him as he sat on her knee eating his chestnuts, which he held in his funny little hands and nibbled very fast indeed. He could sit up pretty well now, and yet he did look like such a baby!Still, she thought perhaps she ought to let him go free; and here in this wild spot, where there were no cats to catch him, was a good place.So when he had finished his dinner she put him down on the ground near a little tree, and then went back and sat down where she had been before, some distance away.What do you think Little Mitchell did now?He looked around at the big, wild, lonely forest, and then at his dear lady, and he ran and scrambled and scampered as fast as his little legscould carry him,—not up the tree, oh no, indeed!—but straight back to his lady. He climbed into her lap and stuck his head up her sleeve, and seemed glad to be at home again.You see, the little fellow was afraid, and no doubt it made him feel very bad to think that maybe he was to be left there all alone.But you may be sure the lady did not leave him after that. She tucked him into his little box, where he curled right up and went to sleep; and when they started on again, she carried along the box with Little Mitchell in it.After all, there were no sugar cookies and roasted chestnuts in the woods for the little fellow.They spent the night at the woman’s mother’s house, and next morning Little Mitchell and his lady went on to Blowing Rock, which is several miles away.But it was a glorious walk,—first through the beautiful forest, and then out into a corn-field where the cornstalks were rustling their brown leaves in the breeze.When they got to the corn-field, the lady took Little Mitchell out of the box; the sun was warm, and she thought he would enjoy it,—for he was getting too big now to stay shut up all day.So she opened the box-cover and out popped Little Mitchell. He climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and sat there and washed his face with his hands very fast indeed.He looked so cunning washing his face, that the lady always liked to see him do it. First he would flatten his ears down close to his head, then he would put his face into his two hands held close together, and scrub very fast, rubbing all over his ears and back of them.He did not lick his paws to moisten them, as a cat does, for he did not seem to have much moisture in his little mouth. His tongue was very small, and as soft as velvet. But when he wanted to wash his face, now, what do you think he did? Why, he blew his nose hard into his hands, and then washed away! What he got from his little nose was very clean and watery, just as clean as what puss gets on her paws when she licks them. Yes, it does seem strange to you, but that is the way the squirrel-folk all do. If you were a squirrel, you would think it queer to do any other way.Well, Little Mitchell, out there in the corn-field, sat up on his lady’s shoulder and washed his face until he was satisfied; then he climbed all over her, up and down and around, clear down to the hem of her dress.She was afraid he would get a little too frisky, and jump down to the ground and get lost; but, dear me! she needn’t have worried about that. Jump down? He wouldn’t have left his lady that day among those rustling cornstalks, not for the whole world. He just climbed about for fun and exercise; but when the corn-leaves rustled, how scared he was! He scrambled as fast as he could down the lady’s arm and up into her coat-sleeve; and when she got him out, back he went as soon as a corn-blade rustled near them.“You must be hungry,” she said, when at last she had him cuddled up in her hand. So she picked an ear of corn, and they sat down and pulled off the husk and all the long soft silk that was inside, and Little Mitchell had some of the kernels.He took them in his little hands,one at a time, and looked up at his lady out of his bright eyes with such a wise air! He turned the kernel of corn over, and sniffed at it until he found the germ that lies in one side,—the little thing that sprouts when you plant the corn,—and he pulled this out with his sharp front teeth, and ate it very fast; but the rest of the kernel he threw away. Not a bit of it would he eat but that! You see the germ was soft and sweet, and pleased the little chap.If all squirrels eat corn in that way, it is no wonder the farmers worry when they make a raid on the cornfields in the early autumn!When Mitchell had eaten all the tender corn-germs he wanted, they went on; and the very next blade that rustled near them—pop!—he was over the lady’s shoulder, up under her jacket, and in the top ofher sleeve. She had to stop and take off her jacket and extract him. He kept on at this trick until finally she put him in his box and fastened the cover down,—which, after all, was just what he wanted, for he was tired, and he curled right up and went fast asleep and gave her no more trouble.Away they went, down the mountain, across the valley, up another mountain, and down into the Watauga valley, where the river is larger and where the chinkapins grow.It is the same valley where stands the house on the strawberry slope,—only the Watauga River is not a tinkling trout-brook down here, but quite a proud stream, though it still has trout in its pools.Of course, when they got among the chinkapins they stopped to gather some,—for these were ripe, if thestrawberries were not, and there were plenty of them too.Whatarechinkapins?Why, don’t you know? All the children who live in the South know what chinkapins are,—at least, all who live where they grow know.They are not berries! No, guess again.Yes, nuts; little shiny brown nuts, like baby chestnuts. The mountain children often string them for beads, they are so pretty. They grow in little burrs, like tiny chestnut burrs; but there is only one nut in a burr instead of two or three, and they grow on bushes or little trees, with leaves like chestnut leaves, only smaller.No, chinkapins are not shaped quite like chestnuts; they are not flat anywhere. Chestnuts have to be flat on at least one side, because they grow three in a burr, and are squeezedagainst each other, so the middle chestnut is flat on both sides, but the others are flat only on the inside and rounded on the outside. But the chinkapin is rounded on both sides, because it is alone in its burr, with nothing to flatten against. Oh no, it is not round all over like a marble,—it is like a tiny chestnut, only it is rounded instead of being flattened on its sides.I wish I could give you a handful of shiny chinkapins, then you would know just how they look.Children who do not live near chinkapins need to know about them because of “Uncle Remus.” When you read how “Brer Rabbit” sat on a chinkapin log, combing his hair with a chip, you ought to know what a chinkapin log is like.Little Mitchell’s Visitor“He scampered off as if the old cat were after him.” (Page158)Chinkapins being so small, and only one in a burr, you can imagine they are not easy to gather until Jack Frost comes along with his sharp fingers and splits open all the tiny burrs on all the little chinkapin trees. Then you have only to shake the trees or beat the bushes, and patter! patter! patter!—out will come jumping the pretty brown chinkapins, as thick as rain-drops in a summer shower, and all you have to do is to get down and pick them up.Mitchell liked the little nuts, they are so sweet, and he could crack them for himself because the shells are soft, like chestnut shells. So he sat on the lady’s knee in the chinkapin patch, and cracked chinkapins, and when he had succeeded in getting a shell off he would give it a toss that sent it far away.The lady ate chinkapins too, they were so sweet and good; but Little Mitchell did not quite like that,—heseemed to think she was eating his nuts, and once in a while he would reach up and snatch away her chinkapin, and scold and chatter at her. That was because he was hungry, and thought he wanted them all; but when he had had enough he let her eat what she wanted too.Presently along came Phyllis Amaranth, Lucy Ansonia Belindy, and Mollie May. Of course they came with their pretty feet bare, and none of them were more than seven years old.They just smiled and smiled, and clasped their hands tight together, when they saw Little Mitchell. But he kept one eye on them, and when they came too near he ran and hid in the folds of his lady’s dress. He didn’t care for little girls, and he was terribly afraid they might touch him.So Phyllis Amaranth, Lucy Ansonia Belindy, and Mollie May ran to thechinkapin bushes and shook them, and picked up the chinkapins very fast, and gave them to Mitchell’s lady for him, so that she soon had all she could carry without the trouble of picking any up. That is the way with these mountain people; they will give you something if they possibly can.Then they all said good-bye to each other, and Little Mitchell and the lady went on. They crossed the Watauga valley, which is easy enough, it is so narrow; then they crossed the Watauga River, which is hard enough, the bridge is so narrow, and so high up in the air, and wobbles so you are afraid of your life to go over it,—but you have to, or else stay on the wrong side of the river, which, you understand, is quite a river here, very swift and rather deep.But they got safely over the wobbly bridge, and went on through the forest,only stopping a few minutes to look at a birch-still.A birch-still is a place where they distil birch-oil out of birch-bark. Do you know how it is done? Well, you ought to, for you eat so much birch-oil. You don’t think you ever ate any birch-oil in your life? Oh, but Iknowyou have eaten it. I am perfectly sure you sometimes eat wintergreen candy and other things flavored with wintergreen. That is, you call it wintergreen; but it is not that at all, it is birch. You see the flavor is the same, and it is much easier to get it out of the birch.The way they do is to strip the bark from the young black-birch trees,—which of course kills the trees, and that is too bad; but they do it, and chop the bark into little pieces, which they put into a long wooden box with a zinc bottom.When the box is full of bark, they put in some water, and fit on the cover, and plaster all the cracks with clay until the box is air-tight,—all but a little round hole in the cover that has a lead pipe fitted into it.Then they build a fire in the fire-hole under the box, and soon the steam from the boiling water escapes through the pipe that is fitted in the cover. The pipe is coiled up in a barrel of water when it leaves the box, and is kept cool by a little stream of water which runs into the barrel all the time.Of course the steam that escapes through the pipe is turned back to water when it becomes cooled, passing through the coil in the barrel, and finally runs out of the other end of the pipe into a bottle. There is birch-oil in the steam that goes over, and the oil runs into the bottle with the water,but being heavier than water it sinks to the bottom of the bottle. When the bottle is full, the water runs out at the top; but when it gets full of oil, they do not allow that to run over,—they take away the bottle of oil and put an empty bottle in its place.Yes, I know that oil is said to float on water, and some oil does, but birch-oil is heavy, as I have told you, and sinks to the bottom.The people take the oil to the store and exchange it for shoes and calico and safety-pins, and all the things they need. The storekeeper sells the oil to the manufacturers, who purify it and make it into flavoring extracts, and then the druggists use it in making medicines and tooth-powder, and the candy-makers flavor some of their candies with it, and the perfumers mix it with other things to make perfumes and scented soap. A great deal ofthis oil comes from the North Carolina mountains, and is made in the woods, as I have told you.Well, when Little Mitchell’s lady had looked at the birch-still long enough, they went on until they got to Blowing Rock. And this is a very wonderful place.

LITTLE MITCHELL REFUSES TO LEAVE HIS LADY

Little Mitchellin his box, and the lady on her two feet, started off to go to the other side of Grandfather Mountain. They were on the south side now, you know, and they wanted to get to the north side.

The way is to go across a sheep pasture, and climb a fence, and go across an old garden, or what once was a garden, and climb another fence, and then you are in the wild woods, with a pretty winding path in front of you and service trees overhead dropping down ripe red berries for you to eat, if you go at the right time of year. Little Mitchell and his lady were too late for the berries, butthey went along under the pretty service trees.

Well, you go on down the path into the deep, deep forest, with the big old oaks and beeches and other trees about you, and the sunbeams dancing in and out, making the forest all motley like the skin of a leopard.

You go down steeper and steeper, until you come to the end of the path and enter a road that runs at right angles to it.

It is a fearful road, full of loose stones and great rocks, such as you find in the bed of a stream. Indeed, it is the dry bed of a stream, and the stream itself, in another bed near by, is the very beginning of the Linville River, and you keep having to cross over the river any way you can, by jumping from stone to stone, and sometimes slipping off and getting wet.

Sometimes this queer road runs rightup the river bed; and then you walk along the edge of it, along a winding path through the rhododendrons.

There were some mountain people going along the road when Little Mitchell and the lady got to it that day. There were a man, a boy, a horse and wagon, and two young girls; and they were all walking, because it was easier to walk than to go tilting and jolting and jiggling over all those stones. Besides, the horse was not strong enough to pull anything but the wagon over such a road, and so they showed Little Mitchell’s lady how to get across the young Linville by jumping on the stones.

Little Mitchell was asleep in his box, which of course the lady carried as carefully as she could, so that he didn’t know nor care anything about all this.

They went gayly along together,until they got to the house where Little Mitchell’s lady was to stop. It was a wild place, close to the great Grandfather Mountain; but it was very sweet, with the fresh air and the tinkly stream across the road in front of the house.

The stream was not the Linville,—they had left that behind. It was the beginning of the Watauga River, that flows in exactly the opposite direction from the Linville, and has trout hiding in its pools.

The house stands on such a steep slope! You look out of the front windows across the narrow Watauga valley, which is nothing but a gorge here, and see the Grandfather Mountain rising up like a tremendous wall all covered with trees.

Little Mitchell in his Box“There he lay on his back, like a hot, tired, human little baby.” (Page152)

Little Mitchell in his Box“There he lay on his back, like a hot, tired, human little baby.” (Page152)

Little Mitchell in his Box

“There he lay on his back, like a hot, tired, human little baby.” (Page152)

But back of the house, where the trees have been cut away, the steep slopes are just covered with wild strawberries. Such big, sweet berries! Why, they are as big as your thumb; mind, I say as big asyourthumb, not as big as mine, which is quite another matter. But anyway they are big enough. Of course there were none then,—it was too late; but in the early summer I should like to see you climb that slope without wetting your feet in strawberry juice! You couldn’t do it, they are so thick. And sweet?—Well, you should just taste them!

Little Mitchell and his lady stayed all night in the house at the foot of the strawberry slope, and the people who lived there were pleased, for they knew Little Mitchell’s lady, and were glad to see him too. They thought him the cunningest baby they had ever seen. He ran about the room, and climbed on the table, and washed his face, and played with his lady, and looked up the big stone chimney. Healmost had a mind to run up it; but his lady said no, so he ate his supper of roasted chestnuts and fresh milk, and went to bed in his little box.

Next morning the woman who kept the house went with Little Mitchell and his lady on a lovely walk over the mountains to where her mother lived.

When noon came, they were only half-way there; so they sat down on a sweet mountain-side, to rest and eat, and Little Mitchell’s lady took him out of his box and gave him sugar cooky and roasted chestnuts for his dinner. She thought he could get along without milk now for a little while, because it was so hard to carry it.

He had grown to be quite a squirrel by this time, and the lady thought that perhaps he was old enough to care for himself, and would like to be set free in the woods, which is the besthome for the little squirrel-folk, you know.

So she looked at him as he sat on her knee eating his chestnuts, which he held in his funny little hands and nibbled very fast indeed. He could sit up pretty well now, and yet he did look like such a baby!

Still, she thought perhaps she ought to let him go free; and here in this wild spot, where there were no cats to catch him, was a good place.

So when he had finished his dinner she put him down on the ground near a little tree, and then went back and sat down where she had been before, some distance away.

What do you think Little Mitchell did now?

He looked around at the big, wild, lonely forest, and then at his dear lady, and he ran and scrambled and scampered as fast as his little legscould carry him,—not up the tree, oh no, indeed!—but straight back to his lady. He climbed into her lap and stuck his head up her sleeve, and seemed glad to be at home again.

You see, the little fellow was afraid, and no doubt it made him feel very bad to think that maybe he was to be left there all alone.

But you may be sure the lady did not leave him after that. She tucked him into his little box, where he curled right up and went to sleep; and when they started on again, she carried along the box with Little Mitchell in it.

After all, there were no sugar cookies and roasted chestnuts in the woods for the little fellow.

They spent the night at the woman’s mother’s house, and next morning Little Mitchell and his lady went on to Blowing Rock, which is several miles away.

But it was a glorious walk,—first through the beautiful forest, and then out into a corn-field where the cornstalks were rustling their brown leaves in the breeze.

When they got to the corn-field, the lady took Little Mitchell out of the box; the sun was warm, and she thought he would enjoy it,—for he was getting too big now to stay shut up all day.

So she opened the box-cover and out popped Little Mitchell. He climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and sat there and washed his face with his hands very fast indeed.

He looked so cunning washing his face, that the lady always liked to see him do it. First he would flatten his ears down close to his head, then he would put his face into his two hands held close together, and scrub very fast, rubbing all over his ears and back of them.

He did not lick his paws to moisten them, as a cat does, for he did not seem to have much moisture in his little mouth. His tongue was very small, and as soft as velvet. But when he wanted to wash his face, now, what do you think he did? Why, he blew his nose hard into his hands, and then washed away! What he got from his little nose was very clean and watery, just as clean as what puss gets on her paws when she licks them. Yes, it does seem strange to you, but that is the way the squirrel-folk all do. If you were a squirrel, you would think it queer to do any other way.

Well, Little Mitchell, out there in the corn-field, sat up on his lady’s shoulder and washed his face until he was satisfied; then he climbed all over her, up and down and around, clear down to the hem of her dress.

She was afraid he would get a little too frisky, and jump down to the ground and get lost; but, dear me! she needn’t have worried about that. Jump down? He wouldn’t have left his lady that day among those rustling cornstalks, not for the whole world. He just climbed about for fun and exercise; but when the corn-leaves rustled, how scared he was! He scrambled as fast as he could down the lady’s arm and up into her coat-sleeve; and when she got him out, back he went as soon as a corn-blade rustled near them.

“You must be hungry,” she said, when at last she had him cuddled up in her hand. So she picked an ear of corn, and they sat down and pulled off the husk and all the long soft silk that was inside, and Little Mitchell had some of the kernels.

He took them in his little hands,one at a time, and looked up at his lady out of his bright eyes with such a wise air! He turned the kernel of corn over, and sniffed at it until he found the germ that lies in one side,—the little thing that sprouts when you plant the corn,—and he pulled this out with his sharp front teeth, and ate it very fast; but the rest of the kernel he threw away. Not a bit of it would he eat but that! You see the germ was soft and sweet, and pleased the little chap.

If all squirrels eat corn in that way, it is no wonder the farmers worry when they make a raid on the cornfields in the early autumn!

When Mitchell had eaten all the tender corn-germs he wanted, they went on; and the very next blade that rustled near them—pop!—he was over the lady’s shoulder, up under her jacket, and in the top ofher sleeve. She had to stop and take off her jacket and extract him. He kept on at this trick until finally she put him in his box and fastened the cover down,—which, after all, was just what he wanted, for he was tired, and he curled right up and went fast asleep and gave her no more trouble.

Away they went, down the mountain, across the valley, up another mountain, and down into the Watauga valley, where the river is larger and where the chinkapins grow.

It is the same valley where stands the house on the strawberry slope,—only the Watauga River is not a tinkling trout-brook down here, but quite a proud stream, though it still has trout in its pools.

Of course, when they got among the chinkapins they stopped to gather some,—for these were ripe, if thestrawberries were not, and there were plenty of them too.

Whatarechinkapins?

Why, don’t you know? All the children who live in the South know what chinkapins are,—at least, all who live where they grow know.

They are not berries! No, guess again.

Yes, nuts; little shiny brown nuts, like baby chestnuts. The mountain children often string them for beads, they are so pretty. They grow in little burrs, like tiny chestnut burrs; but there is only one nut in a burr instead of two or three, and they grow on bushes or little trees, with leaves like chestnut leaves, only smaller.

No, chinkapins are not shaped quite like chestnuts; they are not flat anywhere. Chestnuts have to be flat on at least one side, because they grow three in a burr, and are squeezedagainst each other, so the middle chestnut is flat on both sides, but the others are flat only on the inside and rounded on the outside. But the chinkapin is rounded on both sides, because it is alone in its burr, with nothing to flatten against. Oh no, it is not round all over like a marble,—it is like a tiny chestnut, only it is rounded instead of being flattened on its sides.

I wish I could give you a handful of shiny chinkapins, then you would know just how they look.

Children who do not live near chinkapins need to know about them because of “Uncle Remus.” When you read how “Brer Rabbit” sat on a chinkapin log, combing his hair with a chip, you ought to know what a chinkapin log is like.

Little Mitchell’s Visitor“He scampered off as if the old cat were after him.” (Page158)

Little Mitchell’s Visitor“He scampered off as if the old cat were after him.” (Page158)

Little Mitchell’s Visitor

“He scampered off as if the old cat were after him.” (Page158)

Chinkapins being so small, and only one in a burr, you can imagine they are not easy to gather until Jack Frost comes along with his sharp fingers and splits open all the tiny burrs on all the little chinkapin trees. Then you have only to shake the trees or beat the bushes, and patter! patter! patter!—out will come jumping the pretty brown chinkapins, as thick as rain-drops in a summer shower, and all you have to do is to get down and pick them up.

Mitchell liked the little nuts, they are so sweet, and he could crack them for himself because the shells are soft, like chestnut shells. So he sat on the lady’s knee in the chinkapin patch, and cracked chinkapins, and when he had succeeded in getting a shell off he would give it a toss that sent it far away.

The lady ate chinkapins too, they were so sweet and good; but Little Mitchell did not quite like that,—heseemed to think she was eating his nuts, and once in a while he would reach up and snatch away her chinkapin, and scold and chatter at her. That was because he was hungry, and thought he wanted them all; but when he had had enough he let her eat what she wanted too.

Presently along came Phyllis Amaranth, Lucy Ansonia Belindy, and Mollie May. Of course they came with their pretty feet bare, and none of them were more than seven years old.

They just smiled and smiled, and clasped their hands tight together, when they saw Little Mitchell. But he kept one eye on them, and when they came too near he ran and hid in the folds of his lady’s dress. He didn’t care for little girls, and he was terribly afraid they might touch him.

So Phyllis Amaranth, Lucy Ansonia Belindy, and Mollie May ran to thechinkapin bushes and shook them, and picked up the chinkapins very fast, and gave them to Mitchell’s lady for him, so that she soon had all she could carry without the trouble of picking any up. That is the way with these mountain people; they will give you something if they possibly can.

Then they all said good-bye to each other, and Little Mitchell and the lady went on. They crossed the Watauga valley, which is easy enough, it is so narrow; then they crossed the Watauga River, which is hard enough, the bridge is so narrow, and so high up in the air, and wobbles so you are afraid of your life to go over it,—but you have to, or else stay on the wrong side of the river, which, you understand, is quite a river here, very swift and rather deep.

But they got safely over the wobbly bridge, and went on through the forest,only stopping a few minutes to look at a birch-still.

A birch-still is a place where they distil birch-oil out of birch-bark. Do you know how it is done? Well, you ought to, for you eat so much birch-oil. You don’t think you ever ate any birch-oil in your life? Oh, but Iknowyou have eaten it. I am perfectly sure you sometimes eat wintergreen candy and other things flavored with wintergreen. That is, you call it wintergreen; but it is not that at all, it is birch. You see the flavor is the same, and it is much easier to get it out of the birch.

The way they do is to strip the bark from the young black-birch trees,—which of course kills the trees, and that is too bad; but they do it, and chop the bark into little pieces, which they put into a long wooden box with a zinc bottom.

When the box is full of bark, they put in some water, and fit on the cover, and plaster all the cracks with clay until the box is air-tight,—all but a little round hole in the cover that has a lead pipe fitted into it.

Then they build a fire in the fire-hole under the box, and soon the steam from the boiling water escapes through the pipe that is fitted in the cover. The pipe is coiled up in a barrel of water when it leaves the box, and is kept cool by a little stream of water which runs into the barrel all the time.

Of course the steam that escapes through the pipe is turned back to water when it becomes cooled, passing through the coil in the barrel, and finally runs out of the other end of the pipe into a bottle. There is birch-oil in the steam that goes over, and the oil runs into the bottle with the water,but being heavier than water it sinks to the bottom of the bottle. When the bottle is full, the water runs out at the top; but when it gets full of oil, they do not allow that to run over,—they take away the bottle of oil and put an empty bottle in its place.

Yes, I know that oil is said to float on water, and some oil does, but birch-oil is heavy, as I have told you, and sinks to the bottom.

The people take the oil to the store and exchange it for shoes and calico and safety-pins, and all the things they need. The storekeeper sells the oil to the manufacturers, who purify it and make it into flavoring extracts, and then the druggists use it in making medicines and tooth-powder, and the candy-makers flavor some of their candies with it, and the perfumers mix it with other things to make perfumes and scented soap. A great deal ofthis oil comes from the North Carolina mountains, and is made in the woods, as I have told you.

Well, when Little Mitchell’s lady had looked at the birch-still long enough, they went on until they got to Blowing Rock. And this is a very wonderful place.

Back to IndexNext