'Up you go', said Young Gideon placing his hands on Billigotoff’s backside and pushing him up onto the stump.
'My fellow squirrels', said Billigotoff, 'Brown Owl has said that you should stay here in the woods for another five years. Here in the shade of the oak trees. But I say it's time for a change, time to cross that bridge over to pastures green and into the sunlight.'
A red squirrel pushed to the front of the small crowd, 'It's alright for you to speak,' he said, ‘Your sitting on a mountain of Daddy’s nuts. Snout-troughers have pinched all our savings.’
The grey squirrels moved towards the lone red squirrel but Billigotoff held his up his hand. ‘No, leave him. Even though he is being outrageously prejudiced against us poor over privileged, he is entitled to his opinion and no-doubt eventually he will thank us when we lead him over that bridge, to the sunshine beyond.’
The squirrels gazed over the bridge, at yonder green grass.
The wind rustled trough the trees and airbrushed Billigotoff’s aristocratic profile. Gideon blushed, having realised that he still had his hands on Billigotoff’s backside and all the squirrels were looking at him.
'Time for a charge!' shouted Young Gideon.
'Change!' Corrected Billigotoff.
'Here! Here!' said a grey squirrel.
'Tossers! sniffed the red squirrel.
