Mother West Wind "When" Stories

by Thornton W. Burgess

Whitefoot's black eyes snapped and twinkled. He enjoyed being teased for that story. You see, he is such a little fellow, such a very little fellow, that his bigger neighbors seldom take any notice of him unless it is to try to catch him. There are several who would be glad to swallow Whitefoot if they could catch him. So, being such a little fellow, he felt rather puffed up, rather important, you know, that Peter Rabbit should be so interested and should actually be begging him for a story. He climbed up to a crotch in a tree just a little above Peter's head, a place where he could watch out for danger, made himself comfortable with his back against the trunk of the tree, carefully combed his fur, for Whitefoot is very particular how he looks, and then began his story.

“Always, ever since the world was young, Mice have been among the smallest of the little people of the Green Meadows and the Green Forest, and because of this they have had to live by their wits if they would live at all. In the beginning of things it was not so, I have heard it said, because then there was plenty for all to eat and no cause for the big and strong to seek to kill the small and weak. But when the hard times came and hunger led to the doing of many dreadful things, all of the Mouse tribe found that they were in danger all the time, just as they are to-day.

“My great-great-great-grandfather, the first of all the Wood Mice, chose the Green Forest for his home instead of the Green Meadows where his cousin, old Mr. Meadow Mouse, liked best to live. He chose the Green Forest because it was always beautiful there, and because among the roots of the trees and in the trees themselves there were so many hiding-places. He was very small, just as I am, and he was very smart.”

“Just as you are?” inquired Peter with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I didn't say that!” retorted Whitefoot indignantly. “I never have claimed to be very smart, though I've been smart enough to keep out of the clutches of Reddy Fox and Hooty the Owl and all the others who hunt me. But great-great-great-grandfather was smart. In the Green Forest he had prepared for himself many hiding-places. Some were in the ground, some were in holes in trees, and some were in hollow stumps and logs. For a while he felt quite safe and easy in his mind, even when the times had become so hard and food so scarce that night and day some of his big neighbors like Mr. Lynx and Mr. Fox and Mr. Wolf and Mr. Owl and Mr. Hawk and even old King Bear were sure to come prowling about looking for little people like himself. You see, he had plenty to eat himself because he had been forehanded and had stored away seeds in some of his hiding-places. And he felt perfectly safe because the doorways to his hiding-places were so very small that none of these people could follow him into them.

“So he used to laugh at those who hunted him and sometimes would dodge into one of his little doorways right under their very noses. But one day he saw old King Bear tear open an old hollow stump with his great claws, and he knew that King Bear was looking for him. Another day quite by chance he happened to see Mr. Weasel slip into one of his smallest doorways, and then a great fear took hold of Grandfather Wood Mouse. His enemies knew now where to look for him and how to get into his hiding-places; they were no longer safe.

“'I must find a new hiding-place and keep it a secret,' thought he. For many days he went about, thinking and thinking. One day he had this very much on his mind as he watched Mr. Catbird build a nest. All in a flash a great idea came to him. If he could have a home in a bush like that of Mr. Catbird, no one ever, ever would think of looking for him there! 'If birds can build nests, why can't I?' thought he. All that day he watched the building of Mr. Catbird's nest, trying to see just how each stick was placed and how the nest was lined with fine roots and grass and strips of grapevine bark. The next day he hunted up some old nests in bushes not too high above the ground and climbed up to them. He even pulled some of them to pieces to see how they were made and then tried to put them together again.

“'I believe I can do it!' he exclaimed over and over to himself. 'I believe I can do it! Any way, it will do no harm to try. No harm can come of trying.'

“He remembered an old nest in a bramble bush not far from where he lived. This he examined very carefully. It would do for a foundation. Then he went to work, taking care to build only when no one was near to discover his secret. He brought grass and fine roots, and he made that nest more comfortable than it had been when it was first built. Then he built a roof over it, so that it would shelter him in bad weather, and to get into it he made a little round doorway. When it was finished, he was very proud of it, as he had reason to be. He carried seeds into it, and then he made it his home for the summer and way into the fall. Of course, no one ever dreamed of looking for him in what seemed like a bird's nest, and many a time he peeped out and watched his hungry neighbors walk right under him without ever suspecting that he was near.

“Of course, he taught his children the secret of nest-building which he had learned from the birds, and that has been the most precious secret in our family ever since. You won't tell any one, will you, Peter?” he concluded anxiously.