Two days and nights they spent there.  Then Whitefoot suggested that they should visit his home.  “Of course, my dear, we will not have to live there unless you want to, but I want you to see it,” said he.

Mrs. Whitefoot didn’t appear at all anxious to go.  She began to make excuses for staying right where they were.  You see, she had a great love for that old home.  They were sitting just outside the doorway talking about the matter when Whitefoot caught a glimpse of a swiftly moving form not far off.  It was Shadow the Weasel.  Neither of them breathed.  Shadow passed without looking in their direction.  When he was out of sight, Mrs. Whitefoot shivered.

“Let’s go over to your home right away,” she whispered.  “I’ve never seen Shadow about here before, but now that he has been here once, he may come again.”

“We’ll start at once,” replied Whitefoot, and for once he was glad that Shadow the Weasel was about.

CHAPTER XVIII:  Mrs. Whitefoot Decides On A Home

   When Mrs. Mouse makes up her mind
   Then Mr. Mouse best get behind.
    — Whitefoot.

Whitefoot the Wood Mouse was very proud of his home.  He showed it as he led Mrs. Whitefoot there.  He felt sure that she would say at once that that would be the place for them to live.  You remember that it was high up in a tall, dead stub and had once been the home of Timmy the Flying Squirrel.

“There, my dear, what do you think of that?” said Whitefoot proudly as they reached the little round doorway.

Mrs. Whitefoot said nothing, but at once went inside.  She was gone what seemed a long time to Whitefoot, anxiously waiting outside.  You see, Mrs. Whitefoot is a very thorough small person, and she was examining the inside of that house from top to bottom.  At last she appeared at the doorway.

“Don’t you think this is a splendid house?” asked Whitefoot rather timidly.

“It is very good of its kind,” replied Mrs. Whitefoot.

Whitefoot’s heart sank.  He didn’t like the tone in which Mrs. Whitefoot had said that.

“Just what do you mean, my dear?” Whitefoot asked.

“I mean,” replied Mrs. Whitefoot, in a most decided way, “that it is a very good house for winter, but it won’t do at all for summer.  That is, it won’t do for me.  In the first place it is so high up that if we should have babies, I would worry all the time for fear the darlings would have a bad fall.  Besides, I don’t like an inside house for summer.  I think, Whitefoot, we must look around and find a new home.”

As she spoke Mrs. Whitefoot was already starting down the stub.  Whitefoot followed.

“All right, my dear, all right,” said he meekly.  “You know best.  This seems to me like a very fine home, but of course, if you don’t like it we’ll look for another.”