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.
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