author - "Jane Andrews"

st tone I sing to them; yet they are never quite satisfied with me, but beat their wings, and stretch out their heads, and cannot be happy until they hear their father."The squirrel, who lives in the hole where the two great branches part, hears what I say, and curls up his tail, while he turns his bright eyes towards the swinging nest which he can never reach." The fanning wind wafts across the road the voice of the old horse- chestnut, who also has a word to say about the