It was--dead." "It means that the squirrel, the real squirrel under the fur, has gone away, David." "Where ?" "To a far country, perhaps." "Will he come back ?" "No." "Did he want to go ?" "We'll hope so." "But he left his--his fur coat behind him.

Didn't he need--that ?" "No, or he'd have taken it with him." David had fallen silent at this.

He had remained strangely silent indeed for some days; then, out in the woods with his father one morning, he gave a joyous shout.

He was standing by the ice-covered brook, and looking at a little black hole through which the hurrying water could be plainly seen.
"Daddy, oh, daddy, I know now how it is, about being--dead." "Why--David!" "It's like the water in the brook, you know; THAT'S going to a far country, and it isn't coming back.

And it leaves its little cold ice-coat behind it just as the squirrel did, too.