Alice swung her bare feet over the edge of her bed. She listened again, but there was not a sound in the house. Even the distant barking of the dog had stopped.
“But maybe he stopped because he’s running over here to get Winkie!” thought Alice. “I must hurry down!”
The early part of the evening had been dark, but now the moon had risen, and, shining in the windows, gave light enough for the little girl to see her way. Softly in her bare feet, clad only in her night dress, she pattered down the back stairs.
It was an easy matter to open the back door and go down the rear steps. Her bare feet made scarcely any sound, and the boards of the walk were warm and dry from the day’s sun.
“Ouch!” Alice could not help exclaiming, as she stepped off the boards into the grass. It was cool and damp to her bare feet, but she minded it but for a moment. Then, stopping a second or two to get used to the tickling feeling of the grass, she went on.
Winkie’s pen was plainly seen in the moonlight. Alice walked over toward it, and if any one had been looking then they might have thought the little girl, in her night dress, was some good fairy floating on a moonbeam to help Winkie.
And that, really, is what Alice was. She stooped down and began to fumble with the catch of the door in the side of the pen. The children had cut a little door hole and had hung a board on for a door, swinging it on leather hinges. They had done this so Winkie could easily come out to do her tricks.
As soon as Alice touched the pen Winkie was awake, and, with a little low whistle of greeting, the wily woodchuck came out of her small sleeping box to see what was going on.
“Oh, Winkie!” half sobbed Alice, putting in her hand and patting her pet, “I’m so afraid something will happen to you that I’m going to open your door and let you go. I hope you will be happy. I’d never be happy if Buster caught you or if Uncle Elias did anything to you. So I’m going to let you go, Winkie.”