THE WEEK toward the close of August in which little Tony and Hi-Bub stayed at the Sanctuary will always remain one of the most prized memories of our forest home.

Tony came by train. He had been fathered and mothered by the entire crew and the passengers. No one could look at him without wanting to do something for the youngster. He had made great gains since we saw him in the winter. Undoubtedly he was rising above the illness that had assailed him and he was bound for strong manhood. Still there was a look of frailty in his thin face, and his prevailing mood was one of such quiet meekness that all who saw him wanted to pour joy, confidence and living interest into his thoughts.

Tony needed the Sanctuary. Hi-Bub needed it too but in a different way. With Hi-Bub it was sort of a spiritual gymnasium where he could exercise the dynamic qualities latent in his character. Tony was in much the same position as the young forest creatures that came where they could have protection until their strength was equal to the demands of life. His thought was as frail and sensitive as his body appeared. I compared him to the tender shoot of a young red pine that had worked its way through the crust of the earth to look at sunlight, drink of dew, hear bird songs. They look so delicate that even the buffeting of the evening breeze might be too severe. Yet they have within them a strength not seen by human eye or recognized by human mind. In secret ways they draw from the world the nourishment, the protection, the love vital to their growth. One day they will rise to their lofty position in forest life, pillars of strength, their roots helping to hold the very earth together.

"Tony is a good boy," said a letter he brought from his mother, in which she told of certain special care he would need. "He is so different from other children it has made him lonely in the world. Perhaps that was the beginning of his present problem. He needs sympathy and understanding. He thinks in terms of poetry. The hardness found in the world hurts him severely. He wants to live in dreams. Some members of our family try to shame him or shock him out of this but I do not. His dreams are good dreams and I want him to have them. I know the quiet of your Sanctuary will give him an opportunity for this."

"Yes, Tony," I said to myself as I read this. "You may dream here to your heart's content. No one will try to awaken you, for we are dreamers too, in a way. Out of what are called dreams has come much of the goodness known in the world. Good dreams are closer to reality than the illusions that spring from fears and selfishness."

There was a dignity about Tony that was baffling. We never once got so close to him as we did to Hi-Bub. There was always the feeling that, like Big John Shawano, Tony looked out at us from another world. I told him to call me Sam for convenience. He couldn't do it. I was "Mr. Sam Campbell (pronounced plainly Camp-bell) and nothing else would do. Giny was "Mrs. Camp-bell," though our young visitor was invited to call her Giny, or Aunty.

I had wondered if I would get much work done during this week. Publishers were pressing me for manuscripts and I needed many hours at my desk. There was no reason to be concerned. Hi-Bub took over completely the task of entertaining and instructing his friend. When they were snugly settled in their little cabin home, Hi-Bub put his arm around Tony. It wouldn't go far around, but he made it go as far as he could. Tony responded the same way. There isn't anything much more awkward than youngsters that age endeavoring to embrace each other. Tony nearly fell down with Hi-Bub's impact, and when he threw his arm around Hi-Bub's shoulders, it looked like a juvenile wrestling match. It was perfectly satisfactory to them, however, and expressed the love they wanted it to. Then out they went to search for adventure.

Tony had to meet the island pets one after another, with Hi-Bub presiding as host. "Thith ith Th-tubby," he said as the veteran chipmunk came up to them. Excitement was bringing out the lisp.

"Who?"

"Th-tubby!1"

"Oh," said Tony, who was familiar with the names of these animals through my books. "You mean Stubby." "I thaid Th-tubby."

"Stubby!"

"Th-tubby!"

I don't know where this clash of phonetics would have led if Cheer had not flown up at that moment. Tony's expression was something to study as he recognized the bird. Here in real life was the creature that had become a symbol of happiness to him. His mouth fell open and his sensitive eyes grew wide with wonder.

Cheer played his part beautifully. He lighted on a branch of a tree about five feet from the two boys. There he sang his limited but lovely repertoire of songs. He strutted back and forth, spreading his wings so as to display to full advantage the gorgeous red spots. Hi-Bub giggled in unrestrained glee. Tony laughed too, but it seemed a little hard for his giggles to get out.

"Lookut! Lookut!" cried Hi-Bub, grabbing Tony's head and trying to force his attention toward Cheer.

"I am lookuting," said the soft voice of Tony.

They fed Cheer. The bird was bewildered and half frightened at the insistent way it was done. Each boy held out a handful of peanut crumbs, and each wanted the bird as his exclusive customer. They poked their small hands out toward Cheer so violently he wasn't sure they were not striking at him. In the meantime Stubby was around demanding attention. Beggar Boy raced up for an introduction and some peanuts. Still-Mo the red squirrel joined the party. Blooey the blue jay cried for service. Hi-Bub dragged Tony from one exciting adventure to another until the young visitor had to sit down on our doorstep. He was not permitted to rest long, however, for Hi-Bub had discovered Salt the porcupine asleep high in a pine tree. Tony stood with his head back watching the porky so long he had difficulty straightening up again.

Really Hi-Bub's tender consideration for his little pal was heart-touching. Presently Giny suggested that Tony might be tired and need some rest. They took him to the little cabin and tucked him in bed. Hi-Bub did the tucking. He did it so thoroughly Giny had to loosen the covers for fear Tony would be unable to breathe. Hi-Bub kept asking him if he was all right until Tony closed his eyes to get rid of him.

While Tony had his first nap, Hi-Bub came to my desk. "Don't you think you ought to have a nap too, old top?" I asked. Hi-Bub just shook his head. He leaned against me and I put my arm around him. "Having fun?" I asked. He nodded again. He had something to say and I knew it, but he was having a hard time getting it to come out.

"Sam Cammel," he said softly. "Yes, Hi-Bub?"

"Do you s'pose ..." He hesitated and shot a glance up at me.

"Suppose what, old top?" I asked.

"Well-do you s'pose Little John Deer Foot would care if I didn't have him any more?"

"Why, Hi-Bub?" I asked, wondering what was coming. "'Cause I just want Tony," he said earnestly. "Tony is solid, kind of. I like Little John too, but. .." The sentence ended in a sniff.

"Why, I'm sure Little John Deer Foot wouldn't mind,"

I said reassuringly. "He wants everyone to be happy. He wants you to do everything you can to help Tony. Little John has lots to do."

"Yeth," agreed Hi-Bub, the lisp working again. "You thee, he hath all the animalth and flowerth and woodth."

"Sure," I said in my strongest tone of conviction. "You go on and have just Tony. Little John Deer Foot won't care at all."

Away Hi-Bub went, happy as Cheer himself. He played with the animals, talking to them constantly. His voice was louder than usual. I noticed too that he managed to get right under Tony's window. Altogether his efforts greatly shortened Tony's nap.

No one ever had a more thorough course in nature in one week's time than did Tony. Hi-Bub led him around continually. He told him things about nature that would have astonished an experienced naturalist. Yet there was a lot of good teaching done. I always have believed that children can teach children far better than any adult can. Hi-Bub confirmed my conviction. Within two days Tony could identify most of the common trees about us. He knew the track of a deer and a bear. He could point out the wild aster, the bunchberry, white water lily, cotton grass and other plants of the season. Hi-Bub had him walking around on tiptoe, stepping in spots where there were no leaves or twigs. That was the way Indians went through the woods. He made him whisper much of the time so as not to disturb the forest.

We had been told that Tony couldn't eat or sleep very well. If we had not been informed, we would never have learned it from observation. The first night he was so tired and so filled with fresh air he was in bed before dark, and asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. This delighted Hi-Bub. "Oh boy," he said the next morning, "he thnores! He make-th a thound like a bullfrog."

At the table Tony was the last to finish eating. "What do you do with it?" asked Hi-Bub, quite seriously. "You haven't any tummy."

Tony just smiled and passed his plate for more. Giny had obtained a list of Tony's favorite foods, and she saw to it that he had an abundance of them.

There was an interruption to Tony's first dinner, however—all prearranged. Hi-Bub had helped plan it. Tony had not been told what was going to happen, but he knew very well something was in the offing, for Hi-Bub simply could not keep his giggles and wise looks controlled.

It was evening when we sat down to the table. The door had purposely been left slightly ajar. Our meal was about half finished when suddenly Hi-Bub's giggling became intensified. He glanced toward the door. Tony looked in that direction, and what he saw put him in a state of suspended animation, with a large bite of something or other only partly chewed. There, peering at us in their cute questioning style, were Amos, Andy and the Kingfish. Three prettier raccoons never walked the forest floor. Their coats were now heavy and silky. The black line across their eyes was so well defined it looked as if it had been painted. Their eyes were like shining beads, their cupped ears alertly forward, their tails bushy and ringed with dark streaks. Looking up at us they seemed to be asking, "Is it all right, may we come in?"

They had been in many times before, always wisely choosing the dinner hour. We had kept this habit a secret from Tony, as a surprise for him. The plan was oversuccessful. He not only stopped eating, he nearly stopped breathing. He shot quick glances at Giny, Hi-Bub and me to see if we all saw the same thing. Hi-Bub probably answered the question in his thoughts. "Yeth, Tony, it'th real. Really it'th reall"

Tony answered with a brief lightning flash of a smile, then resumed his expression of wonderment. Not a word did he say nor sound did he make for fully three minutes. He just watched the three coons as they cautiously came farther into the room and finally right to the table.

"Tony," I said, "if you want to, you may give them bites of food from your plate. They will take it from your fingers. Don't be afraid."

I demonstrated for his benefit how the little creatures would rise on their hind legs and reach high to get a choice nibble. Then Tony tried it. There was some timidity when Amos came right up to him. He drew his hand back slightly. The coon reached out quickly with his front feet and caught the morsel Tony held. Then Tony laughed loud and hard. The three visitors went scurrying out the door at the sound. They were back again within a minute, however, and the show went on.

Tony fed them everything on his plate. He gave them everything on Hi-Bub's plate too. I think he would have served them everything on the table had we not called a halt. Believing that we also had some need of nourishment, I led the three coons out the door under enticement of a handful of peanuts—their favorite food.

Every night this act was repeated. Tony never ceased to marvel at the spectacle of these forest creatures coming right into the house. Great things will happen in that boy's life, I am sure. There are talents within his makeup that will carry him far. However, I doubt if life will ever offer him a greater thrill than when he saw Amos, Andy and the Kingfish-three young coons-walk into his dining room.

So this wonderful week slipped by. Every hour we felt grateful that we were privileged to peek into the world of childhood this way. Hi-Bub never ran down. He had ideas continually that kept them on the go. Twice we sacrificed a little sleep to see Specks and his mother. Tony could hardly believe what he saw. Deer had always lived only in storybooks or pictures for him. Now to see one almost within reach was a glorious experience. There were no cute sayings from Tony, such as were constantly spouting out of Hi-Bub. To learn his reactions we had to study closely the expressions in his eyes and on his face.

I had feared there would be tears when it was time for Tony to go home. That shows I didn't know Tony. He climbed on the train without one expression of regret. He thanked us plainly, as he had been told to do by his mother. We asked the train crew to look after him. It was a waste of words to do so. Tony had hardly reached his seat when he was the center of attention. Everyone wanted to do something for him.

Giny, Hi-Bub and I watched the train pull out. Our own hearts were under a strain.

"Sam Cammel," said Hi-Bub.

"Yes."

"Tony is a thwell guy."

Later we had a letter of gratitude from Tony's mother. "He is so quiet, I wonder if you understand what a wonderful time he had and what an inspiration this trip was to him. I think you would like to have these verses I found among his school papers. They show what an impression was made on his thoughts."

Here are the little verses Tony wrote

Sometime I would like to know

What makes such lovely things grow.

I want to know and I'm sure I will

What makes the woods so very still.

I'd like to know just one more thing

What causes little birds to sing.

SEPTEMBER is a sort of hilltop in the year. From its crest you can look back on the lush green valleys of spring and summer. In the other direction lie the long, colorful slopes of autumn. At the horizon is the white loveliness of winter. In itself September is a mixture of what has been and what is coming. Its days borrow something from August, its evenings have frost on their breath.

This begins fireplace season. Giny and I like to use this period of coziness to take inventory of our experiences and blessings. It is good for anyone to do this occasionally. It brings a realization of the goodness that is forever flowing into life. There is another benefit. It utterly defeats the notion that time is some flapping and fluttering independent thing that just delights in breaking all speed records. "Time flies," and "where does the time go?" indicate an error in our own thinking rather than some property residing in clocks and hour glasses. By the time we had reviewed the events of the season, dwelt on the lessons we had learned and expressed a measure of gratitude for it all, we could only say in honesty, "What a long, lovely, blessing-packed summer this has been."

There were changes at the Sanctuary this September. Hi-Bub was in school and could visit us only on week ends as he had done the previous year. Cheer had departed. The general migration of redwings was in late August. As in the previous autumn, Cheer lingered on to give us something extra of his companionship, but his date of departure was earlier by several weeks than in the first year of our acquaintance. We missed him terribly. Hi-Bub called for him until the woods echoed. "It is no use, Hi-Bub," I said to the lad. "Cheer is gone."

"Where did he go?" he asked.

"Oh, 'way down south where the palm trees grow," I replied. "Maybe he is in Georgia, Mississippi or Florida."

Hi-Bub was thoughtful for a moment. "Do you s'pose he went to make someone happy as he did Tony?" Hi-Bub wanted a good reason back of everything.

"Yes, old top," I assured him. "Everyone who looks at Cheer and understands him will be happier—wherever he goes."

"He'th a thwell bird," murmured Hi-Bub.

Specks was becoming wilder and more spirited. His coat was thickening, though the baby spots still showed plainly. Amos, Andy and the Kingfish, together with Racket their mother, were preparing for winter. Their fur was growing heavy and even more beautiful.

September brought one unhappy event to our north country. It was the season for bow-and-arrow hunting. Sportsmen who like the Robin Hood type of weapon were wandering the woodlands outside our Sanctuary. It wasn't pleasant to think of the scenes they might create among the forest creatures. My only consolation was that they are usually such poor marksmen that few of their arrows do any damage.

Still-Mo the red squirrel now startled us by bringing to view a family of six young ones. This was her second brood of the year, as she had brought forth one baby in July. The first definite news we had of the new family was when we heard many tiny feet scampering about our attic. Soon after that we saw them briefly sunning themselves on the roof of the kitchen. I refused to attempt naming them. Still-Mo had given us such a problem in titling her children anyway. "Let's wait until spring," I said to Giny. "Perhaps some of them will have left the island by that time and won't need to be named."

Still-Mo gave us lots to think about in her handling of this belated family. She left us with many unanswered questions too.

Most nature students feel sure that animals are not good weather prophets. Like our own weather men, they make mistakes. Yet there is evidence that sometimes at least they instinctively know what is going to happen. Here is how Still-Mo proved this fact to us. One Saturday when Hi-Bub was at the Sanctuary, I heard him calling loudly from back of the cabin, "Sam Cammel, Sam Cammel come quick !"

I hurried out, not knowing whether he had climbed a tree and forgotten the way down, if he were attacked by a hodag-or what was happening. He was standing looking up at our roof. "Still-Mo is eating her babies," cried the excited boy. "Come quick!"

I reached his side and looked up to see Still-Mo emerging from her entrance to our attic. It was easy to see where Hi-Bub got his notion of what was happening. Still-Mo was carrying one of her young. Now the red squirrel totes her papoose in a very odd manner. She bites right into the stomach of the youngster, whereupon the little one wraps himself around her head to hang on—perhaps more through pain than love. It is a mighty firm grip they have on each other, and probably this is the only way the mother could carry her fuzzy little offspring and retain freedom to travel up and down trees. I quieted Hi-Bub's fears about Still-Mo making a meal of her babies. We called Giny and the three of us watched carefully what was going on.

Still-Mo was moving. One at a time she carried her little ones out of the attic, down a tree to the ground, across about fifty feet to a maple tree and up into its top branches. There she placed her brood in a hollow that had been prepared for them. It took about thirty minutes to complete the transfer. Then the busy mother ran away on some other tasks.

Presently the youngsters came boiling out of their living "log cabin." It was the first tree they had seen and they loved it. They began exploring every branch, twig and leaf of that maple. There was no need to worry about them. This tree-climbing business was in their blood and they were born expert at it.

The thing that interested us most about this event was how it fitted into a weather pattern. We had been having a spell of autumn cold and rain. During this period the squirrel family stayed snugly tucked in the attic. When we saw Still-Mo engineering the transfer of her youngsters, the first break was showing in the storm clouds. The skies cleared very soon thereafter and the little chickarees had sunshine to play in and a mellow breeze to warm them. For three days they lived in the maple tree, getting acquainted with their sylvan world. Sometimes Still-Mo led them in routes through the branches, sometimes they carried out their exercise alone.

On the fourth day there was excitement again among the squirrels. Still-Mo was taking them on a new adventure. She led two of them across the ground to a tree that stands beside our house. From this tree Still-Mo generally jumps to the roof on her way to the attic nest. It is quite a jump, but apparently she prefers this route over that leading through other trees where the ascent is easier.

As we watched her, we realized she was schooling her little ones in this jumping maneuver. They followed her closely and did their best. She led them up the difficult path and made the jump as an example to follow. The young hesitated. Still-Mo jumped to the tree again and nuzzled them as if saying, "Come on there, little ones. Are you going to let the older generation show you up?" Again she leaped through space to the roof.

One youngster followed successfully and chattered as if quite proud of his accomplishment. The other one couldn't work up the courage to try. He ran to the end of the limb, looked over to the roof, and then retreated to a crotch and sat there trembling. Still-Mo jumped back to him. She poked him with her nose to urge the attempt. It was no use. He was just plain afraid. When Still-Mo had determined this, she deliberately led him down that tree and over to another much closer to the roof. Two at a time the rest of the family were put through this training. Of the six little ones, four made the big jump successfully, two had to betaken over the easy path. Still-Mo worked without rest until they were all in the attic again.

Then came the weather angle. Within two hours after this family had returned to its well-insulated quarters, a terrific storm broke. In the hollow tree the nest would have been flooded. The baby squirrels might not have survived. One can always charge such things to chance and coincidence if he wishes. There could be no final proof of wisdom or foresight on the part of Still-Mo unless we could actually read her thoughts. The fact remains that she took her family out for tree training exactly at the time weather suitable for such experience was beginning. She brought them in precisely when this period of good weather was over and a storm that could have done serious damage to her family was at hand.

There is another observation that must be added to this history of Still-Mo. In an earlier chapter I told how Still-Mo's single July baby was soon driven off the island. It was early in the season and he had plenty of time to find another home for himself and store up his winter food. How different was the treatment of the six that we saw in September! Now winter was close at hand. There was no time to look for homes and certainly not sufficient opportunity to gather enough seeds, nuts and pine cones. We noticed prior to the coming of the second family that StillMo had worked hard at putting food in the attic. There must have been a tremendous store on hand. Soon we understood the purpose. After the young squirrels had been given sufficient training so that they could take care of themselves, Still-Mo deliberately abandoned the attic to them and went to live elsewhere on the island I There the little fellows had a grand store of provisions willed to them, and a place that would be safe and comfortable during the cold period just ahead.

I believe the intelligence and purpose of this act cannot be questioned. Still-Mo realized all the conditions facing this September family. She prepared for her young in a motherly and wise way. The sentiment of conscious sacrifice was there. Such displays of character on the human scale are called noble, and we can say no less of these acts of that interesting and lovable little chickaree, StillMo.