'Tis sad indeed to trust a friend
Then have that trust abruptly end.
--Whitefoot
I know of nothing that is more sad than to feel that a friend is no
longer to be trusted. There came a time when Whitefoot the Wood Mouse
almost had this feeling. It was a very, very anxious time for Whitefoot.
You see, Whitefoot and Farmer Brown's boy had become the very best
of friends there in the little sugar-house. They had become such good
friends that Whitefoot did not hesitate to take food from the hands of
Farmer Brown's boy. Never in all his life had he had so much to eat or
such good things to eat. He was getting so fat that his handsome little
coat was uncomfortably tight. He ran about fearlessly while Farmer Brown
and Farmer Brown's boy were making maple syrup and maple sugar. He had
even lost his fear of Bowser the Hound, for Bowser had paid no attention
to him whatever.
Now you remember that Whitefoot had made his home way down beneath the
great pile of wood in the sugar-house. Of course Farmer Brown and Farmer
Brown's boy used that wood for the fire to boil the sap to make the
syrup and sugar. Whitefoot thought nothing of this until one day he
discovered that his little home was no longer as dark as it had been.
A little ray of light crept down between the sticks. Presently another
little ray of light crept down between the sticks.
It was then that Whitefoot began to grow anxious. It was then he
realized that that pile of wood was growing smaller and smaller, and if
it kept on growing smaller, by and by there wouldn't be any pile of
wood and his little home wouldn't be hidden at all. Of course Whitefoot
didn't understand why that wood was slipping away. In spite of himself
he began to grow suspicious. He couldn't think of any reason why that
wood should be taken away, unless it was to look for his little home.
Farmer Brown's boy was just as kind and friendly as ever, but all the
time more and more light crept in, as the wood vanished.
“Oh dear, what does it mean?” cried Whitefoot to himself. “They must be
looking for my home, yet they have been so good to me that it is hard
to believe they mean any harm. I do hope they will stop taking this wood
away. I won't have any hiding-place at all, and then I will have to
go outside back to my old home in the hollow stump. I don't want to do
that. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I was so happy and now I am so worried! Why
can't happy times last always?”