In the first place, it was
dark in there. In the second place, he had the feeling that somehow
that little bedroom seemed crowded. It hadn't been that way the
last time he was there. Mrs. Whitefoot was right in front of him,
and she seemed very much excited about something.
Presently she crowded to one side. "Come here and look," said she.
Whitefoot looked. In the middle of a soft bed of moss was a
squirming mass of legs and funny little heads. At first that was
all Whitefoot could make out.
"Don't you think this is the most wonderful surprise that ever was?"
whispered little Mrs. Whitefoot. "Aren't they darlings? Aren't you
proud of them?"
By this time Whitefoot had made out that that squirming mass of legs
and heads was composed of baby Mice. He counted them. There were four.
"Whose are they, and what are they doing here?" Whitefoot asked
in a queer voice.
"Why, you old stupid, they are yours, -- yours and mine," declared
little Mrs. Whitefoot. "Did you ever, ever see such beautiful babies?
Now I guess you understand why I kept you away from here.
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