The rats and mice, who own the forest houses in the Machipura, have to be
kicked off the beds at night. But the little grey squirrels in Sir Swinton
Jacob's garden are--_facile princeps_--the boldest wild-fowl we have yet
encountered.
Every afternoon about three, when tea was toward, the squirrels gathered
on the gravel path, and prepared to receive bread and butter.
After a few nervous darts and tail whiskings, a bold squirrel would skip
up close, and, after eating a little ground bait, would boldly come up and
nibble out of a motionless hand. In two minutes half-a-dozen pretty little
creatures would be fidgeting round, eating bread and butter daintily,
neatly holding the morsel in their little forepaws and nuzzling into one's
fingers for more.
A handsome magpie, and, of course, a contingent of crows, made up the
fascinating party; while in the background, among the neem trees and the
flaming "gold mohurs," the minahs and green parrots sustained an incessant
and riotous conversation.
_Wednesday, October 25_.--Gladly would we have accepted the Jacobs'
invitation to stay longer at Jaipur. We would have liked nothing better,
but time was flying, and the 5th November--our day of departure from
Bombay--was drawing rapidly near. So yesterday evening we took the 6.30
train for Ajmere, and, reaching there at 10.30, changed into the
narrow-gauge railway for Chitor. We are becoming well accustomed to
sleeping in an Indian train, and Sabz Ali had our beds unrolled and our
innumerable hand luggage stowed away in no time, including four bottles of
soda-water, which he has carefully garnered in the washstand, and which no
hints, however broad, will induce him to relinquish.
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