knew it was another Wood Mouse, but
it was a stranger, and do what he would, he couldn't get so much as a
glimpse of this little stranger. He would drum with his feet and after a
slight pause there would be an answering drum. Then Whitefoot would run
as fast as he could in that direction only to find no one at all. Then
he would drum again and the reply would come from another direction.

Every moment Whitefoot became more excited. He forgot everything, even
danger, in his desire to see that little drummer. Once or twice he
actually lost his temper in his disappointment. But this was only for
a moment. He was too eager to find that little drummer to be angry very
long.

At last there came a time when there was no reply to his drumming. He
drummed and listened, then drummed again and listened. Nothing was to be
heard. There was no reply. Whitefoot's heart sank.

All the old lonesomeness crept over him again. He didn't know which
way to turn to look for that stranger. When he had drummed until he
was tired, he sat on the end of an old log, a perfect picture of
disappointment. He was so disappointed that he could have cried if it
would have done any good.

Just as he had about made up his mind that there was nothing to do but
to try to find his way home, his keen little ears caught the faintest
rustle of dry leaves. 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. They vanished. Whitefoot's he