"Ah, now I understand," chirped Pwit-Pwit. "Well, now that the bears and the racoons care no longer for the news, I shall have more time than ever to devote to dear old Mahmoud, and to Fatimah and the hippopotamus baby."
Just then there came a wild bellow from the direction of Wapiti's yard.
"It's Wapiti," said Pwit-Pwit, much excited. "Come at once. He remembers."
"If it is the deer you are about to visit," said the rabbit, "I would warn you that his people are apt to be dangerous when the snow is on the ground. It is then that they suffer from hunger, and are none too gentle with their sharp prongs."
But Pwit-Pwit said that he had a perfect understanding with Wapiti, and flew away, followed by Toots and the Princess, both eager to know what it was that the red deer had remembered. They found him shaking his antlers and pawing the snow.
"Now, I remember," he said. "It was on just such a day as this in the great forest that my gentle, tender-eyed mate was taken from me. There were two fierce dogs that sprang at her throat. But this was not until the iron in the man's hand had spoken, and my mate had fallen to her knees, with the blood gushing from her mouth. Look, Pwit-Pwit, little one, do you see that prong, broken short off?"
"Yes," answered the sparrow, eagerly.
The red deer tossed his head savagely, then bellowed fiercely:
"It was with that same prong that I pinned one of the dogs to a tree, so that he never barked again. I left the prong sticking to his heart."