So back and forth from the ground to the old nest in the tree Whitefoot hurried, and presently there was quite a pile of weed stalks and soft grass and strips of bark in the old nest. Mrs. Whitefoot joined Whitefoot in hunting for just the right things, but she spent more time in arranging the material. Over that old nest she made a fine high roof. Down through the lower side she cut a little round doorway just big enough for them to pass through. Unless you happened to be underneath looking up, you never would have guessed there was an entrance at all. Inside was a snug, round room, and in this she made the softest and most comfortable of beds. As it began to look more and more like a home, Whitefoot himself became as excited and eager as Mrs. Whitefoot had been from the beginning. “It certainly is going to be a fine home,” said Whitefoot. “Didn't I tell you it would be?” retorted Mrs. Whitefoot. CHAPTER XXX: The Whitefoots Enjoy Their New Home No home is ever mean or poor Where love awaits you at the door. --Whitefoot. “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 least bit of danger that it would blow down, I would have used it? Do credit me with a little sense, my dear.” “Yes'm, I do,” replied Whitefoot meekly. “You are the most sensible person in all the Great World. I wasn't finding fault. You see, I have always lived in a hole in the ground or a hollow stump, or a hole in a tree, and I have not yet become used to a home that moves about and rocks as this one does when the wind blows. But if you say it is all right, why of course it is all right. Probably I will get used to it after awhile.” Whitefoot did get used to it. After living in it for a few days, it no longer seemed strange, and he no longer minded its swaying when the wind blew. The fact is, he rather enjoyed it. So Whitefoot and Mrs. Whitefoot settled down to enjoy their new home. Now and then they added a bit to it here and there.