What the Squirrel Did for Richard. 109

A narrow coping, about six inches wide, ran
under his window, to the corner of the big build-
ing, and from there a water-spout led to the
ground; but even supposing that he could walk on
this narrow ledge, he certainly could never, never
slide down to the ground on a water-spout. A
cat might do it, but certainly not a boy. And
thinking of a cat, reminded him of the power
which the squirrel had given him so long before.
Why could he not become a squirrel, and so
escape this dreadful death? It was now five years,
however, since he had been a squirrel, the last
time being when he had raced over the bull’s back,
you know.

With a beating heart, poor Richard rubbed the
little finger of his right hand on his chin, and zw-
mediately a red squirrel was running quickly along
the narrow ledge (which seemed a broad safe way
to him) toward the water-spout! Reaching this,
he ran easily, swiftly down.

“There ’s a kitten,” said a man in the
crowd.

“No, it’s a rat,’ said another, for no one