A SURPRISING DISCOVERY
Probably there was no happier Thanksgiving in all the Great World than
the Thanksgiving of Lightfoot the Deer, when the dreadful hunting season
ended and he was once more back in his beloved Green Forest with nothing
to fear. All his neighbors called on him to tell him how glad they were
that he had escaped and how the Green Forest would not have been the
same if he had not returned. So Lightfoot roamed about without fear and
was happy. It seemed to him that he could not be happier. There was
plenty to eat and that blessed feeling of nothing to fear. What more
could any one ask? He began to grow sleek and fat and handsomer than
ever. The days were growing colder and the frosty air made him feel
good.
Just at dusk one evening he went down to his favorite drinking place at
the Laughing Brook. As he put down his head to drink he saw something
which so surprised him that he quite forgot he was thirsty. What do you
think it was he saw? It was a footprint in the soft mud. Yes, Sir, it
was a footprint.
For a long time Lightfoot stood staring at that footprint. In his
great, soft eyes was a look of wonder and surprise. You see, that
footprint was exactly like one of his own, only smaller. To Lightfoot it
was a very wonderful footprint. He was quite sure that never had he seen
such a dainty footprint. He forgot to drink. Instead, he began to search
for other footprints, and presently he found them. Each was as dainty as
that first one.
Who could have made them? That is what Lightfoot wanted to know and what
he meant to find out. It was clear to him that there was a stranger in
the Green Forest, and somehow he didn't resent it in the least. In
fact, he was glad. He couldn't have told why, but it was true.
Lightfoot put his nose to the footprints and sniffed of them. Even had
he not known by looking at those prints that they had been made by a
stranger, his nose would have told him this. A great longing to find the
maker of those footprints took possession of him. He lifted his handsome
head and listened for some slight sound which might show that the
stranger was near. With his delicate nostrils he tested the wandering
little Night Breezes for a stray whiff of scent to tell him which way to
go. But there was no sound and the wandering little Night Breezes told
him nothing. Lightfoot followed the dainty footprints up the bank.
There they disappeared, for the ground was hard. Lightfoot paused,
undecided which way to go.