Surprises sometimes are so great    You're tempted to believe in fate.
    —Whitefoot.
One never-to-be forgotten evening Whitefoot met Mrs. Whitefoot and she invited him to come back to their home. Of course Whitefoot was delighted.
 
“Sh-h-h,” said little Mrs. Whitefoot, as Whitefoot entered the snug little room of the house they had built in the old nest of Melody the Wood Thrush. Whitefoot hesitated. In the first place, it was dark in there. In the second place, he had the feeling that somehow that little bedroom seemed crowded. It hadn't been that way the last time he was there. Mrs. Whitefoot was right in front of him, and she seemed very much excited about something.
 
Presently she crowded to one side. “Come here and look,” said she.
 
Whitefoot looked. In the middle of a soft bed of moss was a squirming mass of legs and funny little heads. At first that was all Whitefoot could make out.
 
“Don't you think this is the most wonderful surprise that ever was?” whispered little Mrs. Whitefoot. “Aren't they darlings? Aren't you proud of them?”
 
By this time Whitefoot had made out that that squirming mass of legs and heads was composed of baby Mice. He counted them. There were four. “Whose are they, and what are they doing here?” Whitefoot asked in a queer voice.
 
“Why, you old stupid, they are yours,—yours and mine,” declared little Mrs. Whitefoot. “Did you ever, ever see such beautiful babies? Now I guess you understand why I kept you away from here.”
 
Whitefoot shook his head. “No,” said he, “I don't understand at all. I don't see yet what you drove me away for.”
 
“Why, you blessed old dear, there wasn't room for you when those babies came; I had to have all the room there was. It wouldn't have done to have had you running in and out and disturbing them when they were so tiny. I had to be alone with them, and that is why I made you go off and liv............