People were apt to be wary of Tommy Fox when fine words dripped from his mouth like that. It usually meant that he was bent on some mischief. And now Grumpy Weasel looked at him suspiciously.
"If you admire my clothes so much why don't you get some like them?" he demanded.
Tommy Fox shook his head mournfully.
"I'd like to," he said, "but I'm too humble a person to dress like a king, in ermine. My family have always worn red. The neighbors wouldn't know me in anything else. Or if they did they'd say I was putting on airs."
"If you want to know what I think, I'll tell you that red's entirely too good for you," Grumpy Weasel sneered.
Tommy Fox smiled somewhat sourly. Grumpy Weasel's remark did not please
him. But he managed to say nothing disagreeable.
"I suppose," he went on, "you've met the newcomer in our valley who dresses as you do, in white and black?"
"What's that you say?" Grumpy Weasel barked. "Who's gone and copied my cold-weather clothes? If I meet him I'll make it hot for him."
"Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned the matter," Tommy Fox said softly. "I don't like to displease you. And I don't want to get a stranger into trouble either, just as he has come to spend the winter amongst us.