But Master Meadow Mouse didn't want to move.
"The grass will grow again," he explained. "Farmer Green can't stop the grass from growing, no matter how often he cuts it." And of course that was quite true.
After haying Master Meadow Mouse had to be more careful than ever. He knew that the hawks would scan the meadow many times a day in hopes of catching a glimpse of his reddish-brown back.
Luckily he succeeded in dodging them. And he dodged a good many other fierce rascals long after winter with its snow had descended on Pleasant Valley. Yet he never complained. He said that danger kept the days—and nights too—from being dull.
What is the earliest thing you can remember? Master Meadow Mouse's earliest memory was of lying in a soft nest of dried grasses. Sometimes the nest was in inky darkness; and then it was night. Sometimes a shaft of light fell upon the nest through a round hole just above his head; and then it was daytime.
That round hole went upwards—straight upwards—for about a foot. And when Master Meadow Mouse looked through it he could see, on pleasant days, a patch of brilliant blue, which was a bit of sky.