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."
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.
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