“You’re my own real brother?” he said in awe.
“Yes, see this scar on my paw. You remember how I got it the day I tumbled out of my nest on the rocks?”
“Yes, yes,” cried Washer excitedly. “And you remember how I broke off the tip of my tail. See, it’s gone yet. It never grew on again.”
“Now, I know you, Washer,” added the other, examining the end of the tail. “Of course, you’re my long lost brother.”
Before the surprised raccoons they began embracing each other. Washer’s joy was so great that his heart beat like a trip-hammer. After a while, he asked.
“And my other brother—is he alive?”
“Yes, he was with us, but didn’t reach the rock. He’s probably hiding up some tree, expecting we’ll all be killed by the wolves.”
“Then I must go to him, too. I want to see him. And mother—is she still alive?”
“Yes, Washer, she’s alive, too, but so old and feeble, she can’t hunt with us. We have to carry food home to her. She’s never forgiven herself for losing you. She blames herself for letting you fall in the river. It made her whole life sad. I think the joy of seeing you again will make her young again.”
“Then I must go to her at once! You will show me the way?”