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Whitefoot there. He felt sure that she would say at once that that would be the place for them to live. You remember that it was high up in a tall, dead stub and had once been the home of Timmy the Flying Squirrel. "There, my dear, what do you think of that?" said Whitefoot proudly as they reached the little round doorway. Mrs. Whitefoot said nothing, but at once went inside.
They would hardly lose any way as they pushed towards the strand beneath the farmhouse of Craigdarroch, which was the nearest point on their road to the old Bridge of Tongland, beyond which Whitefoot knew his trail. Stair watched them out of sight.
We must get busy at once and fix it up." Even then Whitefoot didn't understand. Always he had lived either in a hole in the ground, or in a hollow stump or tree. How they were to live in that old nest he couldn't see at all. A home is always what you make it. With love there you will ne'er forsake it. Whitefoot.
Chatterer looked at Happy Jack. Happy Jack looked at Danny Meadow Mouse. Danny looked at Striped Chipmunk. Striped looked at Johnny Chuck. Johnny looked at Whitefoot the Wood Mouse. Then all looked at Old Mother Nature and shook their heads. "I thought as much," said she. "Jimmy is wonderfully well armed, but for defense only. He never makes the mistake of misusing that little scent gun.
In the middle of a soft bed of moss was a squirming mass of legs and funny little heads. At first that was all Whitefoot could make out. "Don't you think this is the most wonderful surprise that ever was?" whispered little Mrs. Whitefoot. "Aren't they darlings? Aren't you proud of them?" By this time Whitefoot had made out that that squirming mass of legs and heads was composed of baby Mice.
It was Hooty the Owl, and it was simply good fortune that Timmy happened to see him. Timmy did not move. He knew that he was safe so long as he kept perfectly still. He knew that Hooty didn't know he was there. Unless he moved, those great eyes of Hooty's, wonderful as they were, would not see him. Timmy looked over to where he had last seen Whitefoot.
He would have had the comfortable feeling that if the weather turned so bad that he could not easily get out and about, he would not have to go hungry. But Whitefoot is a happy little fellow and wisely made the best of things. At first he came out very little by day.
Jumper was still there; it was clear that he hadn't moved, and so Whitey hadn't seen him. Again Whitefoot grinned. Then he settled himself to watch patiently for Whitey to become tired of watching that hole and fly away. So it was that Whitefoot saw all that happened. He saw Whitey suddenly sail out on silent wings from that stump and swoop with great claws reaching for some one.
Now I guess this will do for the nearest relatives of Danny Meadow Mouse." "He certainly has a lot of them," remarked Whitefoot the Wood Mouse. Then he added a little wistfully, "Of course, in a way they are all cousins of mine, but I wish I had some a little more closely related." "You have," replied Old Mother Nature, and Whitefoot pricked up his big ears.
Surefoot's name, like Sally's own, was not strictly his baptismal cognomen, the original name of "Whitefoot" having been relegated to oblivion early in life owing to some clever trail-following the pup had achieved. Many men would face an aeroplane flight with a sinking sensation. Many would have to acknowledge some qualms on a start with "mere dogs" in a blizzard like this one.
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