Gray-brush was a squirrel, and the cleverest member of the Gray-brush family that I have ever seen. I found him one day during a walk down in the pasture, under an oak. He had probably had a bad fall and hurt his back, something that rarely happens to a squirrel, for he was vainly trying to climb the trunk of the oak. He was using only his forepaws, while his hind legs were limp and useless under him, and his brush, that a squirrel usually carries saucily cocked over one shoulder, lay limp upon the ground.
I picked him up carefully; but he squirmed and bit at me savagely, and showed all of that distrust that the wild creature usually has for man. But when he found that I did not intend to hurt him, he became quiet, and I carried him home in my hat. I found an old squirrel-cage in the garret, and put Gray-brush in it, after which I bathed his back in arnica, and gave him corn and buckwheat. But he ate little for the first day or two, and would not eat at all when I was watching him. After a while, when I would happen around, I would
