100 YEARS AGO The squir­rel’s demise

Strathearn Herald - - MEMORY LANE -

One day when Ep­pie Cal­lum had filled her teapot, she popped in an acorn,“just for luck”she said.

The re­sult was cer­tainly an ex­tra good cup. When the leaves were thrown out and the acorn with them, a sharp-eyed squir­rel, perched on the top of a tall spruce nearby, thought to him­self,“that’s for me,”and smartly leap­ing down from branch to branch, in a twin­kling he had the nut im­pris­oned in a hole where he was stor­ing a win­ter hoard.

Chuck­ling over his find, he gaily scram­bled up the tree again, but alas, he never reached his perch.

Be­fore he was half way up, a tiny red and white beast darted on him like the flash of an elec­tric spark, fas­ten­ing its gleam­ing teeth in the back of his neck, and was suck­ing his life-blood be­fore he and the weasel to­gether fell to earth. The strug­gle was short. Never would the squir­rel dig up that hoard, which he had gath­ered with so much fore­thought.

Ep­pie picked up the dead thing and put it un­der the sod the next day, never dream­ing that the tragedy was her good luck.

But there is new life as well as the re­mains of old un­der­ground.

(To be con­tin­ued)

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