For days on end, it seemed, it had rained. And rained. And rained some more. Then, after one final night of rain and wind and even a bit of thunder and lightning, morning dawned bright and blue and blustery. While they’d been cooped up indoors out of the downpours, Mama Chipmunk’s grandchildren and their squirrel friends had made a flotilla of tiny boats out of hollowed-out walnut shells, each with a tall twig for a mast and a tissue-paper sail. In the late morning, they carried them out to the pond that had sprung up at one end of the soggy meadow, set them in the water, and watched the wind carry them across the mini lake as if it were a vast roiling sea.