So he sat on the mossy old log and laughed and laughed and
laughed.
Finally Striped Chipmunk wiped the tears from his eyes and jumped up.
"My, my, this will never do!" said he.
"Idle hands and idle feet
Never filled a storehouse yet;
But instead, so I've heard say,
Into mischief surely get."
"Here it is almost Thanksgiving and--" Striped Chipmunk stopped and
scratched his head, while a funny little pleased look crept into his
face. "I wonder if Happy Jack and Chatterer would come to a
Thanksgiving dinner," he muttered. "I believe I'll ask them just for
fun."
Then Striped Chipmunk hurried home full of his new idea and chuckled as
he planned his Thanksgiving dinner. Of course he couldn't have it at his
own house. That wouldn't do at all. In the first place, the doorway
would be altogether too small for Happy Jack. Anyway, his home was a
secret, his very own secret, and he didn't propose to let Happy Jack and
Chatterer know where it was, even for a Thanksgiving dinner. Then he
thought of the big, smooth, mossy log he had been sitting on that very
morning.
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