Instantly Whitefoot was alert and watchful.
Long ago he had learned to be suspicious of rustling leaves.
They might have been rustled by the feet of an enemy stealing up on
him. No Wood Mouse who wants to live long is ever heedless of
rustling leaves. As still as if he couldn't move, Whitefoot sat
staring at the place from which that faint sound had seemed to come.
For two or three minutes he heard and saw nothing. Then another
leaf rustled a little bit to one side. Whitefoot turned like a
flash, his feet gathered under him ready for a long jump for safety.
At first he saw nothing. Then he became aware of two bright, soft
little eyes watching him. He stared at them very hard and then all
over him crept those funny thrills he had felt when he had first
heard the drumming of the stranger. He knew without being told that
those eyes belonged to the little drummer with whom he had been
playing hide and seek so long.
Whitefoot held his breath, he was so afraid that those eyes would vanish.
Finally he rather timidly jumped down from the log and started
toward those two soft eyes.
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