d these things
to himself over and over again. Then Hooty would send out that fierce,
terrible hunting call and Whitefoot would jump and shake just as before.

After awhile all was still. Gradually Whitefoot stopped trembling. He
guessed that Hooty had flown away. Still he remained right where he was
for a very long time. He didn't intend to foolishly take any chances. So
he waited and waited and waited.

At last he was sure that Hooty had left. Once more he climbed up to his
little round doorway and there he waited some time before poking even
his nose outside. Then, just as he had made up his mind to go out, that
terrible sound rang out again, and just as before he tumbled heels over
head down on his bed.

Whitefoot didn't go out that night at all. It was a moonlight night and
just the kind of a night to be out. Instead Whitefoot lay in his little
bed and shivered and shook, for all through that long night every once
in a while Hooty the Owl would hoot from the top of that stub.

CHAPTER XXIV: Whitefoot The Wood Mouse Is Unhappy

Unhappiness without a cause you never, never find;
It may be in the stomach, or it may be in the mind.
--Whitefoot.

Whitefoot the Wood Mouse should have been happy, but he wasn't. Winter
had gone and sweet Mistress Spring had brought joy to all the Green
Forest. Every one was happy, Whitefoot no less so than his neighbors at
first. Up from the Sunny South came the feathered friends and at once
began planning new homes. Twitterings and songs filled the air. Joy was
everywhere. Food became plentiful, and Whitefoot became sleek and fat.
That is, he became as fat as a lively Wood Mouse ever does become. None
of his enemies had discovered his new home, and he had little to worry
about.

But by and by Whitefoot began to feel less joyous. Day by day he grew
more and more unhappy. He no longer took pleasure in his fine home. He
began to wander about for no particular reason. He wandered much farther
from home than he had ever been in the habit of doing. At times he would
sit and listen, but what he was listening for he didn't know. "There
is something the matter with me, and I don't know what it is," said
Whitefoot to himself forlornly. "It can't be anything I have eaten. I
have nothing to worry about. Yet there is something wrong with me. I'm
losing my appetite. Nothing tastes good any more. I want something, but
I don't know what it is I want."

He tried to tell his troubl