look to Whitefoot as if he would no longer have a snug, hidden
little home in Farmer Brown's sugar-house. The pile of wood under
which he had made that snug little home was disappearing so fast
that it began to look as if in a little while there would be no wood
at all.

Whitefoot quite lost his appetite. He no longer came out to take
food from Farmer Brown's boy's hand. He stayed right in his snug
little home and worried.

Now Farmer Brown's boy had not once thought of the trouble he was
making. He wondered what had become of Whitefoot, and in his turn
he began to worry. He was afraid that something had happened to his
little friend. He was thinking of this as he fed the sticks of wood
to the fire for boiling the sap to make syrup and sugar. Finally,
as he pulled away two big sticks, he saw something that made him
whistle with surprise. It was Whitefoot's nest which he had so
cleverly hidden way down underneath that pile of wood when he had
first moved into the sugar-house. With a frightened little squeak,
Whitefoot ran out, scurried across the little sugar-house and out
though the open door.

Farmer Brown's boy understood. He understood perfectly that little
people like Whitefoot want their homes hidden away in the dark.
"Poor little chap," said Farmer Brown's boy." He had a regular
castle here and we have destroyed it. He's got the snuggest kind of
a little nest here, but he won't come back to it so long as it is
right out in plain sight. He probably thinks we have been hunting
for this little home of his. Hello! Here's his storehouse!
I've often wondered how the little rascal could eat so much, but