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Baby Mitchell was an August squirrel. That is, he was born in the month of August. His pretty gray mother found a nice hole, high up in the crotch of a tall chestnut tree, for her baby’s nest. Then she lined it with soft fur plucked from her own loving little breast, for that is the way the squirrel mothers do. This chestnut tree grew in a great forest on the side of a steep mountain, named Mount Mitchell. This is the highest mountain peak in all the eastern half of the United States. It is in North Carolina, where there are many beautiful mountains, and is one of the most beautiful of them all. One night the little gray bunny mother did not come home, and the baby in the old chestnut tree became hungry and cried all night. No doubt he was cold, too, for he had no little furry mother to curl herself about him and keep him warm. Little Mitchell was only two or three days old, and did not have his eyes open, yet when morning came, he felt so bad, that he climbed up to the crotch of the tree to find out what he could. Then he tried to walk out into space, and down he fell. He caught at the tree-trunk with his little claws, and in that way managed to get hold of a piece of loose bark. There he clung, frightened, and crying like a baby-which, indeed, he was. Then a lady, who was climbing to the top of Mount Mitchell, came along, found the baby squirrel, and rescued him. She took him with her, and, although she was on a journey, she gave him the best of care. She used to give him warm milk out of a spoon three or four times a day. Every day he took a little more, and every day he grew a little larger. When he was older, she one day brought him some chestnuts. They were the very first to get ripe. She did not give them to Little Mitchell until she had roasted them in the hot ashes, and made them quite soft. Then she gave him one, and the baby took it in his hands, sat up as well as he could, and looked very wise indeed. But he was just making believe, for he did not know in the least what to do with that nut. He sniffed at it, but seemed to have no idea what was inside, until the lady opened it for him. Then he ate a piece of it, gnawing it with his four little front teeth, and liked it very much. Every day after that he had roasted chestnuts with his milk. Soon he learned to know them with the shell on, and to take it off. He would bite it loose, and then give it a fling that sent it ever so far. As they traveled on, they came to the chincapin country, and stopped to gather some chincapins, for they were ripe. What are chincapins? Why, don’t you know? All the children that live in the South know what chincapins are. They are not berries! No, guess again. Yes, nuts; little shiny brown nuts, like baby chestnuts. The mountain children often string them for beads, because they are so pretty. The chincapins grow in little burrs, like tiny chestnut burrs; but there is only one nut in a burr instead of two or three, and they grow on bushes or little trees, with leaves like chestnut leaves, only smaller. Mitchell liked the nuts, which are very sweet, and he could crack them for himself, because the shells are soft, like chestnut shells. So he sat on the lady’s knee in the chincapin patch, and cracked chincapins. When he had succeeded in getting a shell off, he would give it a toss that sent it far away. Once when Little Mitchell had grown to be quite a squirrel, the lady thought that perhaps he was old enough to take care of himself, and would like to be set free in the woods. That, you know, is the best home for the little squirrel folk. When he had finished his dinner of chestnuts that day, the lady put him down on the ground near a little tree. Then she went back to the place where she had been sitting, and left him. Little Mitchell first looked around at the big, wild lonely forest, and then at his dear lady. As soon as he could think, he ran and scrambled and scampered as fast as his legs could carry him-not up the tree, oh, no, indeed!——But straight back to his lady. He climbed into her lap, stuck his head up her sleeve, and seemed glad to be with her again. She then made up her mind to take care of him, and when she went to her home in the North, Little Mitchell went with her and lived with her. 小松鼠米切尔 小松鼠米切尔是只八月的松鼠，也就是说，他出生在八月。 松鼠妈妈有着一身美丽的灰色皮毛，她在高高的栗子树上找了一个舒服的树洞，当作母子两人的新家。她还从自己小小的胸膛上拔下许多软毛垫在窝里，每一位松鼠妈妈都是这么做的。 这棵栗子树长在米切尔山的大森林里。米切尔山非常陡峭，是美国东部地区最高的山。北卡罗来纳州群山绵延，这座山是其中最美丽的一座。 一天晚上，可爱的灰松鼠妈妈没能回家，松鼠宝宝被独自留在了树洞里。没有妈妈为他送来美味的食物，也没有妈妈蜷缩着身体为他御寒，松鼠宝宝饥寒交加，一整夜都在放声大哭。 可怜的小米切尔只有两三天大，就连眼睛都还没有睁开。到了第二天早上，他的状态愈加糟糕。他想爬到树杈上去找点儿什么。他刚刚走出家门，就从树上摔了下来。 幸好他用小爪子抓住了树干上一块松散的树皮，他害怕地紧紧抱着那块树皮，像个宝宝一样哭了起来。他的确还是个小宝宝啊。 这时，一位正在爬山的女士看到了挂在半空的松鼠宝宝，于是将他救了下来。虽然这位女士还在旅行，但她还是将小松鼠带在了身边，竭尽所能地照顾着他。 一天里她会给小松鼠喂三四次温牛奶。随着每天进食量的增加，小松鼠也在不断地长大。 当他长大一点儿的时候，这位女士给了他一些栗子。这些栗子已经成熟了，但她仍然细心地把栗子在炭火上烤了一会儿，烤得又软又糯之后才会给米切尔。 当她给小松鼠一颗烤过的栗子，小松鼠双手接过栗子后端端正正地坐着，看上去很是聪明。 不过这只是表象罢了，事实上他根本不知道该拿这颗坚果怎么办。 他抽着小鼻子使劲儿嗅，但并没有嗅出来果壳里藏的是什么东西。于是，好心的女士只好帮他剥开了果壳。他小心地啃了一口，用那四颗小前牙嚼个不停，看上去十分喜欢吃。 从那之后，米切尔每天都能配着牛奶吃上几颗烤过的栗子。过了不久，他认识了带壳的栗子，还学会了怎么把壳给剥掉。他会先将栗子壳咬松，然后猛地一丢，栗子总会被他丢得老远。 这位女士仍在继续旅行，他们来到了一个叫“钦阔平”的地方（chinquapin，谐音“钦阔平”，是一种叫毛枝栗的栗子，也是美国的一处地名。），收集了一些成熟的毛枝栗。怎么，你不知道毛枝栗是什么吗？每一个生活在美国南方的孩子都知道毛枝栗是什么。不，它们不是浆果！再猜！ 没错，它们是一种小小的、表面光滑的棕色坚果，有点儿像小个儿的栗子，看起来非常漂亮，山里的孩子经常把它们串起来戴在手上或是在身上。 这种小坚果生长在类似于栗子的那种毛刺球里。普通栗子一个毛刺球里会长两到三颗栗子，而这种坚果的毛刺球里只会长出一颗果实。这种坚果长在灌木或是小树苗上，叶子要比栗树小上一圈。 米切尔很喜欢这种味道甜美、表皮柔软的坚果，他能自己轻松地剥掉果皮，品尝美味。瞧，在一块长满小坚果的地方，他正坐在好心女士的膝盖上，认认真真剥着坚果皮。每当他剥掉一块果皮，就会将这块果皮扔得远远的。 小松鼠米切尔长成大松鼠之后，这位好心的女士觉得他已经能够自力更生了，也许想要回到自由自在的树林里生活。对于小松鼠来说，显然大自然才是他们最好的家。 那天晚上，等米切尔吃过最爱的栗子，这位女士把他放到一棵小树旁的地上，接着她自顾自地离开了，回到她一开始坐着的地方。 小米切尔看了看广袤孤独的原始森林，又看了看那位亲爱的女士。他连跑带爬，慌慌张张地用最快的速度冲向她。哦，是的，他没往树上爬，而是直接回到了好心女士的身边。 他爬上她的膝头，将头埋在她的袖子里，能又回到她身边，他觉得很高兴。于是，这位女士下定决心要一直照顾这只小松鼠。后来，米切尔跟着她回到了北方的家，和她生活在一起。 Tip：戳左下角“原文链接”可购买常青藤版《美国语文》全书哟(* ￣3)(ε￣ *) |
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