Hollow I found a wood-thrush's nest in a slender 

 swamp-maple, about fifteen feet from the ground. 

 The young birds left it late in June, and when 

 Whitefoot moved in I do not know. But along 

 in the winter I noticed that the nest looked sus- 

 piciously round and full, as if it were roofed 

 over. Perhaps the falling leaves had lodged in 

 it, though this was hardly likely. So I went up 

 to the sapling and tapped. My suspicions were 

 correct. After some thumps, a sleepy, fright- 

 ened face appeared through the side of the nest, 

 and looked cautiously down at me. No one 

 could mistake that pointed nose, those big ears, 

 and the round pop-eyes so nearly dropping out 

 with blinking. It was Whitefoot. I had dis- 

 turbed his dreams, and he had hardly got his 

 wits together yet, for he had never been awak- 

 ened thus before. And what could wake him? 

 The black-snakes are asleep, and there is not a 

 coon or cat living that could climb this spindling 

 maple. Free from these foes, Whitefoot has 

 only the owls to fear, and I doubt if even the 

 little screech-owl could flip through these inter- 

 laced branches and catch- the nimble-footed ten- 

 ant of the nest. 



[29] 



