Why not move to the farmyard? The thought came into Master Meadow Mouse's head. It seemed to him that the farmyard would be a fine place to live. There was grain scattered here and there, where somebody had fed the hens. There was the duck pond near-by, when he wanted a swim.
"I'll come!" Master Meadow Mouse decided. "I'll come—if I can find a good place for a nest."
Thereupon he began to look about for a site for his new home. And it wasn't long before he had found one that suited him. When he saw the woodpile he squeaked with delight.
"The very place!" he cried. "I'll begin to built my nest to-night."
So he set to work. He carried dead leaves and dried grass to the woodpile and started to make a snug home for himself in a space between the logs, well inside the heap of wood. And he had just crept from a chink and stood under the stars when a tiny voice greeted him with a cry, "What ho, stranger!"
Master Meadow Mouse looked around. And there on a stick of wood just behind him was a plump gray person. The newcomer looked the least bit like Master Meadow Mouse himself, except that his tail was ever so much longer.
"I'm Moses Mouse and I live in the farmhouse," said the gray gentleman.
"I'm Master Meadow Mouse and I'm going to live in this woodpile," said the reddish-brown chap in reply.
"That's good news," Moses Mouse remarked. "But you must look out for Miss Snooper," he added.
"Who is she?" Master Meadow Mouse asked his new friend.