Mrs. Whitefoot said nothing, but led the way down the tree with Whitefoot meekly following.  Then began a patient search all about.  Mrs. Whitefoot appeared to know just what she wanted and turned up her nose at several places Whitefoot thought would make fine homes.  She hardly glanced at a fine hollow log Whitefoot found.  She merely poked her nose in at a splendid hole beneath the roots of an old stump.  Whitefoot began to grow tired from running about and climbing stumps and trees and bushes.

He stopped to rest and lost sight of Mrs. Whitefoot.  A moment later he heard her calling excitedly.  When he found her, she was up in a small tree, sitting on the edge of an old nest a few feet above the ground.  It was a nest that had once belonged to Melody the Wood Thrush.  Mrs. Whitefoot was sitting on the edge of it, and her bright eyes snapped with excitement and pleasure.

“I’ve found it!” she cried.  “I’ve found it!  It is just what I have been looking for.”

“Found what?” Whitefoot asked.  “I don’t see anything but an old nest of Melody’s.”

“I’ve found the home we’ve been looking for, stupid,” retorted Mrs. Whitefoot.

Still Whitefoot stared.  “I don’t see any house,” said he.

Mrs. Whitefoot stamped her feet impatiently.  “Right here, stupid,” said she.  “This old nest will make us the finest and safest home that ever was.  No one will ever think of looking for us here.  We must get busy at once and fix it up.”

Even then Whitefoot didn’t understand.  Always he had lived either in a hole in the ground, or in a hollow stump or tree.  How they were to live in that old nest he couldn’t see at all.

CHAPTER XXIX:  Making Over An Old House

   A home is always what you make it. 
   With love there you will ne’er forsake it.
    — Whitefoot.

Whitefoot climbed up to the old nest of Melody the Wood Thrush over the edge of which little Mrs. Whitefoot was looking down at him.  It took Whitefoot hardly a moment to get up there, for the nest was only a few feet above the ground in a young tree, and you know Whitefoot is a very good climber.

He found Mrs. Whitefoot very much excited.  She was delighted with that old nest and she showed it.  For his part, Whitefoot couldn’t see anything but a deserted old house of no use to any one.  To be sure, it had been a very good home in its time.  It had been made of tiny twigs, stalks of old weeds, leaves, little fine roots and mud.  It was still quite solid, and was firmly fixed in a crotch of the young tree.  But Whitefoot couldn’t see how it could be turned into a home for a Mouse.  He said as much.

Little Mrs. Whitefoot became more excited than ever.  “You dear old stupid,” said she, “whatever is the matter with you?  Don’t you see that all we need do is to put a roof on, make an entrance on the under side, and make a soft comfortable bed inside to make it a delightful home?”