Mark jumped up. “Ah, heck! We wouldn’t have hurt you, you dumb squirrel!” Disappointment lined his face.
“Stay calm. He’ll be back again tomorrow,” Paul said. He stood and stretched his stiff muscles.
“He’ll never trust us.”
“Yes, he will. Little by little.”
“We’ll never tame him.”
“Little by little,” Paul said. “He can’t be converted in one week. You’ve got to be patient.”
“I’m not very good at being patient.”
“I know. But you’ll learn.”
“Little by little?”
“That’s right,” Paul said. He bent over, picked up the apple slices and peanuts, and dropped them into a plastic bag.
“Hey,” Mark said, “maybe he’s mad at us because we always take the food when we leave.”
Paul laughed. “Maybe so. But if he got in the habit of sneaking back and eating after we’ve gone, he wouldn’t have any reason to come out while we’re here.”
As they started back toward camp, which lay at the far end of the two-hundred-yard-long mountain meadow, Paul gradually became aware again of the beautiful day as if it were a mosaic for all the senses, falling into place around him, piece by piece. The warm summer breeze. White daisies gleaming in the grass, and here and there a buttercup. The odor of grass and earth and wild flowers. The constant rustle of leaves and the gentle soughing of the breeze in the pine boughs. The trilling of birds. The solemn shadows of the forest. High above, a hawk wheeled into sight, the last piece of the mosaic; its shrill cry seemed filled with pride, as if it knew that it had capped the scene, as if it thought it had pulled down the sky with its wings.
The time had come for their weekly trip into town to replenish their supply of perishable goods-but for a moment he didn’t want to leave the mountain. Even Black River-small, nearly isolated from the modem world, singularly peaceful- would seem raucous when compared to the serenity of the forest.
But of course Black River offered more than fresh eggs, milk, butter, and other groceries: Jenny was there.
As they drew near the camp, Mark ran ahead. He pushed aside a pair of yellow canvas flaps and peered into the large tent that they had erected in the shadow of several eighty-foot hemlocks and firs. A second later he turned away from the tent, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “Rya! Hey, Rya!”
“Here,” she said, coming out from behind the tent.
For an instant Paul couldn’t believe what he saw: a small young squirrel perched on her right arm, its claws hooked through the sleeve of her corduroy jacket. It was chewing on a piece of apple, and she was petting it gently.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
“Chocolate.”
“Chocolate?”
She grinned. “I started out trying to lure it with the same bait you and Mark have been using. But then I figured that a squirrel can probably get nuts and apples on his own. But he can’t get chocolate. I figured the smell would be irresistible- and it was! He was eating out of my hand by Wednesday, but I didn’t want you to know about him until I was sure he’d gotten over the worst of his fear of humans.”
“He’s not eating chocolate now.”
“Too much of it wouldn’t be good for him.”
The squirrel raised its head and looked quizzically at Paul. Then it continued gnawing on the piece of apple in its forepaws.
“Do you like him, Mark?” Rya asked. As she spoke her grin melted into a frown.
Paul saw why: the boy was close to tears. He wanted a squirrel of his own-but he knew they couldn’t take two of the animals home with them. His lower lip quivered; however, he was determined not to cry.
Rya recovered quickly. Smiling, she said, “Well, Mark? Do you like him? I’ll be upset if you don’t. I went to an awful lot of trouble to get him for you.”
You little sweetheart, Paul thought.
Blinking back tears, Mark said, “For me?”
“Of course,” she said.
“You mean you’re giving him to me?”
She feigned surprise. “Who else?”