Wise little philosopher that he is, he takes life very much as he finds it and squeezes out a full cup of joy from each passing season.
So long as he is just a boy, it does not matter what the wind or weather bring.
To scuff in the dead leaves, and kick up great clouds of them while their sweet sad scent fills the nostrils, is a deep satisfaction, but boyhood's joys are more dramatic. This is more of a girl's pastime. To go away for a day's hard work in the chestnut or butternut grove, or even to gather beechnuts, is more to his liking.
It is dizzy work climbing the high chestnuts and then holding on with one hand, while with the other one pulls off the hard-sticking burrs. The first frosts help some, but if one would be ahead of the squirrels he will have to use a pole. The beechnuts stick so hard that the best method is to saw off a convenient limb, and then strip it leisurely.
How the squirrels run up and down the trees, barking and scolding as you work. This applies especially to the red squirrel. The
