among the boughs as if a hundred jays were after him. But they were only make-believe enemies. And after a while Frisky grew tired of playing all alone. He wished he could find Jasper Jay again. He would have liked to tease the rude fellow, until Jasper chased him.

As Frisky paused for a moment to catch his breath he heard a long-drawn, squealing whistle, somewhat like the sound of escaping steam.

“There’s Jasper Jay right now!” he exclaimed. “And he’s trying to make people think he’s a red-tailed hawk. But he can’t fool me that way. I’ll just go and find him. And then maybe I won’t tease him!”

Frisky started toward the place where he had heard that whistle. He called to Jasper Jay; but there was no answer. Nor did he hear the whistle again. He hunted all around; but no Jasper Jay could he find. And he was just going to give up the search when there was a sudden rush through the air.

Frisky dodged just in time; and a big body, grayish-brown, with a rusty-red tail, went tearing past him. He had been mistaken. It wasn’t Jasper Jay he had heard whistling, but this fierce red-tailed hawk. Here was even more fun than Frisky had hoped for!

As soon as Mr. Hawk could stop his swift flight he turned and came back again. And there followed the liveliest sort of dodging for Frisky Squirrel. It was well for him that he had had plenty of practice all the spring, or I am afraid he would never have escaped.

He was not afraid. And now and then he laughed at Mr. Hawk. And now and then he shouted “Robber!” at him, and “Thief!” And he asked him how many of Farmer Green’s chickens he had stolen lately.

But Mr. Hawk never once answered—except to whistle sometimes as he went sailing past. He paid strict attention to what he was doing. And he seemed to have no idea of stopping until he got Frisky Squirrel in his claws.

After a while Frisky began to tire of the sport. But not Mr. Hawk! He kept flying back and forth, back and forth, past Frisky. And his cruel eyes glared terribly every time he came near.

“You’d better go along home,” Frisky called to him. “You can never catch me, if you try till snow flies.”

Mr. Hawk lighted on a near-by tree and looked at Frisky. Frisky was a plump little squirrel and Mr. Hawk hated to give him up. But as he thought the matter over he seemed to decide that Frisky was a little too spry for him. And with one more whistle he mounted up above the trees and sailed calmly away.

Frisky Squirrel went home then; and he told his mother what sport he had had, and how Mr. Hawk had at last flown away in despair. “I hope he’ll come back again to-morrow,” said Frisky.

But Mrs. Squirrel shook her head. She wished that Frisky was less daring.

After he escaped from the fierce red-tailed hawk you would naturally think that Frisky Squirrel would have been glad to keep away from such a great, strong enemy. But the very next day found Frisky searching everywhere for that cruel, hook-nosed Mr. Hawk. He wanted more of that fine sport that he had had the day before, dodging and twisting around the limbs of the trees, while Mr. Hawk swooped down and tried to seize him. There was another reason, too, why Frisky wanted to find Mr. Hawk again—and that was because he knew that it annoyed Mr. Hawk very much not to be able to catch him. You see, Frisky Squirrel was a great tease.

Well, as I said, Frisky hunted all through the woods for the red-tailed hawk. But he couldn’t find him. There was a good reason why—and that was because Mr. Hawk was waiting for Frisky in the top of a tree near Mrs. Squirrel’s home. He was waiting and watching—was Mr. Hawk. When Frisky had given up his search and was almost home he heard the smaller birds warning one another of the danger, telling of the savage old fellow who was half-hidden on a high branch of the tall elm. Frisky first heard a flicker calling to a towhee; and the towhee told a robin; and the robin told a little song sparrow that he had better keep out of sight unless he wanted Mr. Hawk to catch him. You may be sure that the little song sparrow was very careful after that. He gave a few chips, just to do his share in warning the other forest-people to look out for the red-tailed hawk; and then he crept into a thicket and kept just as still as a mouse.

When Frisky heard the news—for he knew what the birds were telling one another—he hurried along joyfully. He was not afraid of Mr. Hawk. Mr. Hawk was the very person he was looking for.

“Hello, you old ruffian!” Frisky called, as soon as he spied Mr. Hawk. It certainly was a very impolite thing to say, even if it was true.

Mr. Hawk turned his cruel eyes upon Frisky Squirrel and then he dashed toward him as fast as he knew how. He dropped down like lightning from his high perch, and Frisky had to dodge quickly to escape him; but that was part of the fun.

Frisky Squirrel laughed as Mr. Hawk went sailing by him. And then something happened—something Frisky was not expecting. He heard a rush through the air, and a nervous little wren screamed to him to look out. Frisky didn’t know what the trouble was; but he gave a great leap to one side.

He was just in time. He had hardly left the limb to which he had been clinging when Mr. Hawk’s wife went coursing past. You see, Mr. Hawk had made up his mind that he was going to catch Frisky Squirrel, even if he had to bring Mrs. Hawk along to help him.

It was not long before Frisky Squirrel began to see that he had got himself into something very like a fix. It had been fairly easy to dodge Mr. Hawk alone. But things were quite different now. Mr. Hawk would come hurtling down upon him from one direction; and Mrs. Hawk would swoop down upon him from another. It was all very confusing, because Frisky could not watch both of them at once.

He called to his mother, because he began to be frightened. But Mrs. Squirrel was not at home. Frisky did not know what to do. He tried to reach his home in the big hickory tree near-by; but Mr. and Mrs. Hawk wouldn’t let him go near it. And when he felt one of Mr. Hawk’s sharp talons dig into his back Frisky thought that his end had come. But he escaped that time, though Mrs. Hawk nearly caught him just two seconds later.

I am afraid The Tale of Frisky Squirrel would have ended right here, if somebody had not come to Frisky’s help. Fortunately, there was a small, olive-green bird who lived with his wife not far from Frisky Squirrel’s home. Mr. Kinglet was his name. And though he was a tiny fellow he had a heart like a lion’s. I suppose that in