XIV. WHEN MR. WOOD MOUSE LEARNED FROM THE BIRDS
|PETER RABBIT never will forget the first time that he saw Whitefootthe Wood Mouse pop out of a nest in a bush a few feet above his head. Itwasn't so much the surprise of seeing Whitefoot as it was the discoverythat that nest was White-foot's own. Peter, had seen that nest often. Itwas in a bush just a little above one of Peter's favorite paths on theedge of the Green Forest. Always he had supposed that it belonged toone of his feathered friends. He had seen many such nests. At least, hesupposed he had. That was because he hadn't taken the trouble to look atthis one particularly. He hadn't used his eyes. If he had, he might haveseen that this, while very like other nests he had seen, was different.It was different in that it had a roof. Yes, Sir, this particular nesthad a roof. And it had a doorway, a very small doorway, and this doorwaywas underneath, a very queer place for a bird to make a doorway hadthere been any bird of his acquaintance who would build a roof to anest, anyway. All of which goes to show how easy it is to see thingswithout really seeing them at all.
It was just at dusk that Peter happened along this particular littlepath and saw Whitefoot the Wood Mouse pop out of that nest.
"Hello!" exclaimed Peter. "What are you doing up there? What businesshave you in that nest? Have you been stealing eggs?"
"No, I haven't been stealing eggs," retorted Whitefoot indignantly. "Andif I haven't any business in this nest I should like to know who has.It's my nest! Who has a better right in it?"
"Your nest!" exclaimed Peter. "Why, I thought you lived in a hollow treeor a hollow log or a hole in the ground or some such place. How long isit since you learned to build a nest like a bird, and who taught you?"
Whitefoot knew by the tone of Peter's voice that Peter didn't believe aword of what he had been told. He looked very hard at Peter, and in hisbig, soft, black eyes was an indignant look which Peter couldn't helpbut see. "I don't care whether you believe it or not, this is my nest,and I built it," said he indignantly. "At least I built it over," headded, for Whitefoot is very truthful. "In the winter I do live in ahollow tree or a hollow log or a hole in the ground, whichever is mostcomfortable, but in the warm weather I have a summer home, and this isit. My family has known how to build such homes ever since the days ofmy great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather when the world was young.It was he who learned the secret, and it has been in our family eversince."
Peter's long ears stood straight up with excited interest andcuriosity. "Tell me about it!" he begged. "Tell me how yourgreat-great-ever-so-great-grandfather learned how to build a nest like abird. Please tell me, White-foot."
Whitefoot sat up and daintily washed his pretty white hands. "I don'tthink I will," he replied slowly. "You didn't believe me when I saidthat this nest is mine, and so I'm sure you won't believe the story ofmy great-grandfather. I don't like telling stories to people who don'tbelieve."
"But I will believe it!" cried Peter. "If you say it is true, I'llbelieve every word of it. Please tell me the story, Whitefoot. Oh,please do." Peter was very much in earnest. "I'm sorry I didn't believeyou at first when you said that this nest is yours. But I do now,Whitefoot. I do now. Please, please tell me the story."
Whitefoot's black eyes snapped and twinkled. He enjoyed being teasedfor that story. You see, he is such a little fellow, such a very littlefellow, that his bigger neighbors seldom take any notice of him unlessit is to try to catch him. There are several who would be glad toswallow Whitefoot if they could catch him. So, being such a littlefellow, he felt rather puffed up, rather important, you know, that PeterRabbit should be so interested and should actually be begging him for astory. He climbed up to a crotch in a tree just a little above Peter'shead, a place where he could watch out for danger, made himselfcomfortable with his back against the trunk of the tree, carefullycombed his fur, for Whitefoot is very particular how he looks, and thenbegan his story.
"Always, ever since the world was young, Mice have been among thesmallest of the little people of the Green Meadows and the Green Forest,and because of this they have had to live by their wits if they wouldlive at all. In the beginning of things it was not so, I have heard itsaid, because then there was plenty for all to eat and no cause for thebig and strong to seek to kill the small and weak. But when the hardtimes came and hunger led to the doing of many dreadful things, all ofthe Mouse tribe found that they were in danger all the time, just asthey are to-day.
"My great-great-great-grandfather, the first of all the Wood Mice, chosethe Green Forest for his home instead of the Green Meadows where hiscousin, old Mr. Meadow Mouse, liked best to live. He chose the GreenForest because it was always beautiful there, and because among theroots of the trees and in the trees themselves there were so manyhiding-places. He was very small, just as I am, and he was very smart."
"Just as you are?" inquired Peter with a twinkle in his eyes.
"I didn't say that!" retorted Whitefoot indignantly. "I never haveclaimed to be very smart, though I've been smart enough to keep out ofthe clutches of Reddy Fox and Hooty the Owl and all the others who huntme. But great-great-great-grandfather _was_ smart. In the Green Foresthe had prepared for himself many hiding-places. Some were in the ground,some were in holes in trees, and some were in hollow stumps and logs.For a while he felt quite safe and easy in his mind, even when the timeshad become so hard and food so scarce that night and day some of hisbig neighbors like Mr. Lynx and Mr. Fox and Mr. Wolf and Mr. Owl and Mr.Hawk and even old King Bear were sure to come prowling about lookingfor little people like himself. You see, he had plenty to eat himselfbecause he had been forehanded and had stored away seeds in some of hishiding-places. And he felt perfectly safe because the doorways to hishiding-places were so very small that none of these people could followhim into them.
"So he used to laugh at those who hunted him and sometimes would dodgeinto one of his little doorways right under their very noses. But oneday he saw old King Bear tear open an old hollow stump with his greatclaws, and he knew that King Bear was looking for him. Another day quiteby chance he happened to see Mr. Weasel slip into one of his smallestdoorways, and then a great fear took hold of Grandfather Wood Mouse.His enemies knew now where to look for him and how to get into hishiding-places; they were no longer safe.
"'I must find a new hiding-place and keep it a secret,' thought he. Formany days he went about, thinking and thinking. One day he had thisvery much on his mind as he watched Mr. Catbird build a nest. All in aflash a great idea came to him. If he could have a home in a bush likethat of Mr. Catbird, no one ever, ever would think of looking for himthere! 'If birds can build nests, why can't I?' thought he. All that dayhe watched the building of Mr. Catbird's nest, trying to see just howeach stick was placed and how the nest was lined with fine roots andgrass and strips of grapevine bark. The next day he hunted up some oldnests in bushes not too high above the ground and climbed up to them.He even pulled some of them to pieces to see how they were made and thentried to put them together again.
"'I believe I can do it!' he exclaimed over and over to himself. 'Ibelieve I can do it! Any way, it will do no harm to try. No harm cancome of trying.'
"He remembered an old nest in a bramble bush not far from where helived. This he examined very carefully. It would do for a foundation.Then he went to work, taking care to build only when no one was near todiscover his secret. He brought grass and fine roots, and he made thatnest more comfortable than it had been when it was first built. Then hebuilt a roof over it, so that it would shelter him in bad weather, andto get into it he made a little round doorway. When it was finished, hewas very proud of it, as he had reason to be. He carried seeds into it,and then he made it his home for the summer and way into the fall. Ofcourse, no one ever dreamed of looking for him in what seemed likea bird's nest, and many a time he peeped out and watched his hungryneighbors walk right under him without ever suspecting that he was near.
"Of course, he taught his children the secret of nest-building which hehad learned from the birds, and that ha
s been the most precious secretin our family ever since. You won't tell any one, will you, Peter?" heconcluded anxiously.
"No," said Peter, "I won't tell any one. Of course I won't. It must benice to have a sort of sky-parlor in the summer," he added wistfully.
"It is," replied Whitefoot. "I just love my summer home." With this heclimbed up to his snug nest, and the last Peter saw of him was his longslim tail disappearing through the little round doorway.
Mother West Wind When Stories Page 14
