“How far am I from the North Woods, Browny?” Buster interrupted.
“This is no time for joking, Browny. I want a plain, straightforward answer.”
“Well, then you’ll have it. You’re there now! You’re standing in the North Woods!”
Buster gave a little sigh of relief. So he was back home, in the woods where had been born! How good the trees and bushes looked and smelt! He sniffed the pines and spruces. He looked at the river he had crossed, and for the first time realized this was the stream that passed the door of his old home. By following it up he could come to the cave where his mother had lived, and where Loup the Lynx had found him that day when he tried to kill him.
If you want to hear more of Buster’s life you can follow him in the book “Buster the Big Brown Bear’s Adventures.”
There are many squirrels living in the North Woods, but only one real Bobby Gray Squirrel, and if you saw him once you would never mistake him for any other. Bobby was a gay, rollicking happy-go-lucky fellow, who believed in enjoying himself today and letting the morrow take care of itself. He wasn’t exactly lazy, but he didn’t believe in doing work that wasn’t actually necessary, and sometimes, I’m afraid, he forgot to do what was really necessary.
Bobby had many friends in the woods, and they all liked him and smiled at him, but there were some who thought his careless ways might get him in trouble some day. So instead of chattering pleasantly with him, they shook their heads and preached to him.
“Why don’t you get busy these pleasant days, Bobby, and store up food for the winter?” Gray Back the Weasel asked reprovingly one bright, sunny day.
The continuation of this interesting story will be found in
High among the timberland of the North Woods White Tail the Deer was born, and if you had stumbled upon his home in the thickets you would have been surprised by a noise like the rushing of the wind, and then by a very remarkable silence that could almost be felt. The first was made by Mother White Tail as she deserted her young and took to quick flight.
White Tail, crouching low down in the bushes, so still that he scarcely moved a hair, would hide his beautiful head in the branches and leaves like an obedient child. Left alone he knew that his one chance of escape was not to move or whimper or cry.