Steve Rimmer

Chatterer hurried through the Green Forest. He didn't know just where he was going. He had but one thought, and that was to get as far away from Shadow the Weasel as he could. It made him have cold shivers all over every time he thought of Shadow.

Whitefoot had spent the winter undisturbed in Farmer Brown's sugar-house. He had almost forgotten the meaning of fear. He had come to look on that sugar-house as belonging to him. It wasn't until Farmer Brown's boy came over to prepare things for sugaring that Whitefoot got a single real fright.

Jolly, round, bright Mr. Sun had just got well started on his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky that morning when he spied two figures trotting across the snow-covered Green Meadows, one behind the other.

Longlegs the Blue Heron felt decidedly out of sorts. It was a beautiful morning, too beautiful for any one to be feeling that way. Indeed, it was the same beautiful morning in which Grandfather Frog had caught so many foolish green flies.

All Danny Meadow Mouse could think about was his short tail. He was so ashamed of it that whenever anyone passed, he crawled out of sight so that they should not see how short his tail was.

What Chatterer saw was a big brown bunch near the top of a tall chestnut-tree, and he headed for that tree as fast as ever he could go. What was that big brown bunch?

Grandfather Frog was fast asleep in his pond and, most importantly, in broad daylight. This wouldn't be such a bad idea, if it were not for all the creatures who would like him for dinner.

Danny Meadow Mouse was worried. Now worry is one of the worst things in the world, and it didn't
seem as if there was anything that Danny Meadow Mouse need worry about. You know, some people let their looks make them miserable. They worry about how they look, and this is very foolish.

In all his short life Whitefoot the Wood Mouse never had spent such a happy winter. Whitefoot is one of those wise little people who never allow unpleasant things of the past to spoil their present happiness, and who never borrow trouble from the future. Whitefoot believes in getting the most from the present. The things which are past are past, and that is all there is to it. There is no use in thinking about them. As for the things of the future, it will be time enough to think about them when they happen.

Chatterer the Red Squirrel had been in abad mood because there was no excitement. Then, he had all the excitement that he wanted. Indeed, he had more than he wanted. He was being followed.