It wasn't
because he had any hope. He didn't have the least bit of hope.
He knew now that he couldn't climb the sides of that pail,
and there was no other way of getting out. Still he kept on paddling.
It was the only way to keep from drowning, and though he felt
sure that he had got to drown at last, he just wouldn't until
he actually had to. And all the time Whitefoot squeaked hopelessly,
despairingly, pitifully. He did it without knowing that he did it,
just as he kept paddling round and round.
CHAPTER VIII: The Rescue
When Whitefoot made the heedless jump that landed him in a pail half
filled with sap, no one else was in the little sugar-house.
Whitefoot was quite alone. You see, Farmer Brown and Farmer Brown's
boy were out collecting sap from the trees, and Bowser the Hound was
with them.
Farmer Brown's boy was the first to return. He came in just after
Whitefoot had given up all hope. He went at once to the fire to
put more wood on. As he finished this job he heard the faintest
of little squeaks. It was a very pitiful little squeak. Farmer
Brown's boy stood perfectly still and listened.
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