"There," said Mrs. Whitefoot, as she worked a strip of white birch bark into the roof of the new home she and Whitefoot had been building out of the old home of Melody the Wood Thrush, "this finishes the roof. I don't think any water will get through it even in the hardest rain."
"It is wonderful," declared Whitefoot admiringly. "Wherever did you learn to build such a house as this?"
"From my mother" replied Mrs. Whitefoot. "I was born in just such a home. It makes the finest kind of a home for Wood Mouse babies."
"You don't think there is danger that the wind will blow it down, do you?" ventured Whitefoot.
"Of course I don't," retorted little Mrs. Whitefoot scornfully. "Hasn't this old nest remained right where it is for over a year? Do you suppose that if I had thought there was the
