Green Forest Stories Thornton W. Burgess (best romance novels of all time .txt) 📖

his temper. “I guess I’ll come in if I want to,” said he. “This home is quite as much my home as it is yours. You have no right to keep me out of it. Just you get out of my way.”

But little Mrs. Whitefoot didn’t get out of his way, and do what he would, Whitefoot couldn’t get in. You see she quite filled that little round doorway. Finally, he had to give up trying. Three times he came back and each time he found little Mrs. Whitefoot in the doorway. And each time she drove him away. Finally, for lack of any other place to go to, he returned to his old home in the old stub. Once he had thought this the finest home possible, but now somehow it didn’t suit him at all. The truth is he missed little Mrs. Whitefoot, and so what had once been a home was now only a place in which to hide and sleep.

Whitefoot’s anger did not last long. It was replaced by that hurt feeling. He felt that he must have done something little Mrs. Whitefoot did not like, but though he thought and thought he couldn’t remember a single thing. Several times he went back to see if Mrs. Whitefoot felt any differently, but found she didn’t. Finally she told him rather sharply to go away and stay away. After that Whitefoot didn’t venture over to the new home. He would sometimes sit a short distance away and gaze at it longingly. All the joy had gone out of the beautiful springtime for him. He was quite as unhappy as he had been before he met little Mrs. Whitefoot. You see, he was even more lonely than he had been then. And added to this loneliness was that hurt feeling, which made it ever and ever so much worse. It was very hard to bear.

“If I could understand it, it wouldn’t be so bad,” he kept saying over and over again to himself, “but I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why Mrs. Whitefoot doesn’t love me any more.”

XXXII The Surprise

Surprises sometimes are so great
You’re tempted to believe in fate.

Whitefoot

One never-to-be forgotten evening Whitefoot met Mrs. Whitefoot and she invited him to come back to their home. Of course Whitefoot was delighted.

“Sh-h-h,” said little Mrs. Whitefoot, as Whitefoot entered the snug little room of the house they had built in the old nest of Melody the Wood Thrush. Whitefoot hesitated. In the first place, it was dark in there. In the second place, he had the feeling that somehow that little bedroom seemed crowded. It hadn’t been that way the last time he was there. Mrs. Whitefoot was right in front of him, and she seemed very much excited about something.

Presently she crowded to one side. “Come here and look,” said she.

Whitefoot looked. 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. He counted them. There were four. “Whose are they, and what are they doing here?” Whitefoot asked in a queer voice.

“Why, you old stupid, they are yours⁠—yours and mine,” declared little Mrs. Whitefoot. “Did you ever, ever see such beautiful babies? Now I guess you understand why I kept you away from here.”

Whitefoot shook his head. “No,” said he, “I don’t understand at all. I don’t see yet what you drove me away for.”

“Why, you blessed old dear, there wasn’t room for you when those babies came; I had to have all the room there was. It wouldn’t have done to have had you running in and out and disturbing them when they were so tiny. I had to be alone with them, and that is why I made you go off and live by yourself. I am so proud of them, I don’t know what to do. Aren’t you proud, Whitefoot? Aren’t you the proudest Wood Mouse in all the Green Forest?”

Of course Whitefoot should have promptly said that he was, but the truth is, Whitefoot wasn’t proud at all. You see, he was so surprised that he hadn’t yet had time to feel that they were really his. In fact, just then he felt a wee bit jealous of them. It came over him that they would take all the time and attention of little Mrs. Whitefoot. So Whitefoot didn’t answer that question. He simply sat and stared at those four squirming babies.

Finally little Mrs. Whitefoot gently pushed him out and followed him. “Of course,” said she, “there isn’t room for you to stay here now. You will have to sleep in your old home because there isn’t room in here for both of us and the babies too.”

Whitefoot’s heart sank. He had thought that he was to stay and that everything would be just as it had been before. “Can’t I come over here any more?” he asked rather timidly.

“What a foolish question!” cried little Mrs. Whitefoot. “Of course you can. You will have to help take care of these babies. Just as soon as they are big enough, you will have to help teach them how to hunt for food and how to watch out for danger, and all the things that a wise Wood Mouse knows. Why, they couldn’t get along without you. Neither could I,” she added softly.

At that Whitefoot felt better. And suddenly there was a queer swelling in his heart. It was the beginning of pride, pride in those wonderful babies.

“You have given me the best surprise that ever was, my dear,” said Whitefoot softly. “Now I think I will go and look for some supper.”

So now we will leave Whitefoot and his family. You see there are two very lively little people of the Green