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 ............