The beautiful song of Melody
the Wood Thrush somehow filled him with sadness instead of with the
joy he had always felt before. The very happiness of those about
him seemed to make him more unhappy.
Once he almost decided to go hunt for another home, but somehow he
couldn't get interested even in this. He did start out, but he had
not gone far before he had forgotten all about what he had started
for. Always he had loved to run about and climb and jump for the
pure pleasure of it, but now he no longer did these things.
He was unhappy, was Whitefoot. Yes, sir, he was unhappy; and for no
cause at all so far as he could see.
CHAPTER XXV: Whitefoot Finds Out What The Matter Was
Pity the lonely, for deep in the heart
Is an ache that no doctor can heal by his art.
- Whitefoot.
Of all the little people of the Green Forest Whitefoot seemed to be
the only one who was unhappy. And because he didn't know why he
felt so he became day by day more unhappy. Perhaps I should say
that night by night he became more unhappy, for during the
brightness of the day he slept most of the time.
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