Whitefoot the Wood Mouse | Page 3

stomach, he began to carry the remainder
back to his storehouse underneath the woodpile. While he was gone on
one of these trips, Farmer Brown's boy scattered more crumbs in a line
that led right up to his foot. Right there he placed a big piece of bread
crust.
Whitefoot was working so hard and so fast to get all those delicious
bits of food that he took no notice of anything else until he reached that

piece of crust. Then he happened to look up right into the eyes of
Farmer Brown's boy. With a frightened little squeak Whitefoot darted
back, and for a long time he was afraid to come out again.
But Farmer Brown's boy didn't move, and at last Whitefoot could stand
the temptation no longer. He darted out halfway, scurried back, came
out again, and at last ventured right up to the crust. Then he began to
drag it back to the woodpile. Still Farmer Brown's boy did not move.
For two or three days the same thing happened. By this time, Whitefoot
had lost all fear. He knew that Farmer Brown's boy would not harm
him, and it was not long before he ventured to take a bit of food from
Farmer Brown's boy's hand. After that Farmer Brown's boy took care
that no crumbs should be scattered on the ground. Whitefoot had to
come to him for his food, and always Farmer Brown's boy had
something delicious for him.

CHAPTER IV
: Whitefoot Grows Anxious
'Tis sad indeed to trust a friend Then have that trust abruptly end. -
Whitefoot
I know of nothing that is more sad than to feel that a friend is no longer
to be trusted. There came a time when Whitefoot the Wood Mouse
almost had this feeling. It was a very, very anxious time for Whitefoot.
You see, Whitefoot and Farmer Brown's boy had become the very best
of friends there in the little sugar-house. They had become such good
friends that Whitefoot did not hesitate to take food from the hands of
Farmer Brown's boy. Never in all his life had he had so much to eat or
such good things to eat. He was getting so fat that his handsome little
coat was uncomfortably tight. He ran about fearlessly while Farmer
Brown and Farmer Brown's boy were making maple syrup and maple
sugar. He had even lost his fear of Bowser the Hound, for Bowser had
paid no attention to him whatever.
Now you remember that Whitefoot had made his home way down
beneath the great pile of wood in the sugar-house. Of course Farmer
Brown and Farmer Brown's boy used that wood for the fire to boil the
sap to make the syrup and sugar. Whitefoot thought nothing of this
until one day he discovered that his little home was no longer as dark as

it had been. A little ray of light crept down between the sticks.
Presently another little ray of light crept down between the sticks.
It was then that Whitefoot began to grow anxious. It was then he
realized that that pile of wood was growing smaller and smaller, and if
it kept on growing smaller, by and by there wouldn't be any pile of
wood and his little home wouldn't be hidden at all. Of course Whitefoot
didn't understand why that wood was slipping away. In spite of himself
he began to grow suspicious. He couldn't think of any reason why that
wood should be taken away, unless it was to look for his little home.
Farmer Brown's boy was just as kind and friendly as ever, but all the
time more and more light crept in, as the wood vanished.
"Oh dear, what does it mean?" cried Whitefoot to himself. "They must
be looking for my home, yet they have been so good to me that it is
hard to believe they mean any harm. I do hope they will stop taking this
wood away. I won't have any hiding-place at all, and then I will have to
go outside back to my old home in the hollow stump. I don't want to do
that. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I was so happy and now I am so worried! Why
can't happy times last always?"

CHAPTER V
: The End Of Whitefoot's Worries
You never can tell! You never can tell! Things going wrong will often
end well. - Whitefoot.
The next time you meet him just ask Whitefoot if this isn't so. Things
had been going very wrong for Whitefoot. It had begun to look to
Whitefoot as if he would no longer have a snug, hidden little home in
Farmer Brown's sugar-house. The pile of wood under which he had
made that snug little home was