Farmer Brown's boy was the first to return. He came in just after
Whitefoot had given up all hope. He went at once to the fire to
put more wood on. As he finished this job he heard the faintest
of little squeaks. It was a very pitiful little squeak. Farmer
Brown's boy stood perfectly still and listened. He heard it again.
He knew right away that it was the voice of Whitefoot.

"Hello!" exclaimed Farmer Brown's boy. "That sounds as if
Whitefoot is in trouble of some kind. I wonder where the little
rascal is. I wonder what can have happened to him. I must look
into this." Again Farmer Brown's boy heard that faint little
squeak. It was so faint that he couldn't tell where it came
from. Hurriedly and anxiously he looked all over the little
sugar-house, stopping every few seconds to listen for that
pitiful little squeak. It seemed to come from nowhere in particular.
Also it was growing fainter.

At last Farmer Brown's boy happened to stand still close to that tin
pail half filled with sap. He heard the faint little squeak again and
with it a little splash. It was the sound of the little splash that
led him to look down. In a flash he understood what had happened.
He saw poor little Whitefoot struggling feebly, and even as he
looked Whitefoot's head went under. He was very nearly drowned.

Stooping quickly, Farmer Brown's boy grabbed Whitefoot's long tail
and pulled him out. Whitefoot was so nearly drowned that he didn't have
strength enough to even kick. A great pity filled the eyes of Farmer
Brown's boy as he held Whitefoot's head down and gently shook him.
He was trying to shake some of the sap out of Whitefoot. It ran out