Ahomeisalwayswhatyoumakeit. Withlovethereyouwillne’erforsakeit. WhitefootclimbeduptotheoldnestofMelodytheWoodThrushovertheedgeofwhichlittleMrs.Whitefootwaslookingdownathim. IttookWhitefoothardlyamomenttogetupthere,forthenestwasonlyafewfeetabovethegroundinayoungtree,andyouknowWhitefootisaverygoodclimber. HefoundMrs.Whitefootverymuchexcited. Shewasdelightedwiththatoldnestandsheshowedit. Forhispart,Whitefootcouldn’tseeanythingbutadesertedoldhouseofnousetoanyone. Tobesure,ithadbeenaverygoodhomeinitstime. Ithadbeenmadeoftinytwigs,stalksofoldweeds,leaves,littlefinerootsandmud. Itwasstillquitesolid,andwasfirmlyfixedinacrotchoftheyoungtree. ButWhitefootcouldn’tseehowitcouldbeturnedintoahomeforaMouse.Hesaidasmuch. LittleMrs.Whitefootbecamemoreexcitedthanever. “Youdearoldstupid,”saidshe,“whateveristhematterwithyou? Don’tyouseethatallweneeddoistoputaroofon,makeanentranceontheunderside,andmakeasoftcomfortablebedinsidetomakeitadelightfulhome?” “Idon’tseewhywedon’tmakeanewhomealtogether,”protestedWhitefoot. “Itseemstomethathollowstubofmineiseversomuchbetterthanthis. Thathasgoodsolidwalls,andwewon’thavetodoathingtoit.” “Itoldyouoncebeforethatitdoesn’tsuitmeforsummer,”repliedlittleMrs.Whitefootrathersharply,becauseshewasbeginningtolosepatience. “Itwillbeallrightforwinter,butwinterisalongwayoff. Itmaysuityouforsummer,butitdoesn’tsuitme,andthisplacedoes.Sothisiswherewearegoingtolive.” “Certainly,mydear.Certainly,”repliedWhitefootverymeekly. “Ifyouwanttolivehere,herewewilllive. ButImustconfessitisn’tcleartomeyethowwearegoingtomakeadecenthomeoutofthisoldnest.” “Don’tyouworryaboutthat,”repliedMrs.Whitefoot. “Youcangetthematerial,andI’llattendtotherest.Letuswastenotimeaboutit. Iamanxioustogetourhomefinishedandtofeelalittlebitsettled. Ihavealreadyplannedjustwhathasgottobedoneandhowwewilldoit. Nowyougolookforsomenicesoft,dryweedstalksandstripsofsoftbark,andmossandanyothersoft,toughmaterialthatyoucanfind.Justgetbusyanddon’tstoptotalk.” OfcourseWhitefootdidashewastold.HerandowntothegroundandbegantohuntforthethingsMrs.Whitefootwanted.Hewasveryparticularaboutit. Hestilldidn’tthinkmuchofherideaofmakingoverthatoldhomeofMelody’s,butifshewoulddoit,hemeantthatsheshouldhavetheverybestofmaterialstodoitwith. SobackandforthfromthegroundtotheoldnestinthetreeWhitefoothurried,andpresentlytherewasquiteapileofweedstalksandsoftgrassandstripsofbarkintheoldnest. Mrs.WhitefootjoinedWhitefootinhuntingforjusttherightthings,butshespentmoretimeinarrangingthematerial. Overthatoldnestshemadeafinehighroof. Downthroughthelowersideshecutalittlerounddoorwayjustbigenoughforthemtopassthrough. Unlessyouhappenedtobeunderneathlookingup,youneverwouldhaveguessedtherewasanentranceatall. Insidewasasnug,roundroom,andinthisshemadethesoftestandmostcomfortableofbeds. Asitbegantolookmoreandmorelikeahome,WhitefoothimselfbecameasexcitedandeagerasMrs.Whitefoothadbeenfromthebeginning. “Itcertainlyisgoingtobeafinehome,”saidWhitefoot. “Didn’tItellyouitwouldbe?”retortedMrs.Whitefoot. 
