Though Dickie Deer Mouse was shy, he couldn't have been a coward. For when he had reached the end of that first pitch that led into the old burrow of Billy Woodchuck's uncle and aunt he never once thought of turning back. Before him stretched a dark, dry, level tunnel. And through it Dickie quickly made his way.

It was surprisingly long—that underground passage. But he came to the end of it at last. And creeping upwards, because the tunnel rose suddenly, Dickie Deer Mouse found himself in a roomy chamber, comfortably furnished with a big bed of soft, dried grasses, where Mr. and Mrs. Woodchuck had passed a good many hard winters asleep, while the snow lay deep upon the ground above them.

It took Dickie Deer Mouse no longer than a jiffy to decide that he had found the very place for which he had been looking. He knew that in that secret chamber he had nothing to fear from Solomon Owl nor Simon Screecher, nor Fatty Coon, either. And when midwinter came, and the nights turned bitterly cold, he could cuddle down in that soft bed and dream about summer, and warm, moonlit nights in the woods of the world above.

It was no wonder that Dickie Deer Mouse was pleased. And for a time he forgot everything but his good luck—until he remembered that he had had nothing to eat since the night before.

So he made his way back through the long tunnel, and up into Farmer Green's pasture. Then, looking around under the twinkling stars, he took pains to see exactly where his new home was.

It certainly would have been a great mishap if he had gone away in such a hurry that he could never have found his doorway again. But it was an easy matter to fix the spot in his mind. When he came back he needed only to follow along the rail fence until he came to the corner. Not far from the fence corner, in the woods, stood Farmer Green's sugar house. And about the same distance on the other side of the fence a lone straggler of a maple tree stood on a knoll in the pasture. The departed Mr. and Mrs. Woodchuck had been wise enough to dig the opening to their burrow between the roots of the tree. They knew that if Tommy Fox tried to dig them out of their underground home, he would find the passage between the roots too small to squeeze through.

Dickie Deer Mouse smiled as he saw what the builders of his house had done. They had made everything exactly to suit him. He knew that he could have done no better himself; in fact he knew that he couldn't have done nearly so well. For he was no digger. But he told himself that there was no reason why he should feel sad about that, so long as others were kind enough to dig a fine home and leave it for him to live in.

Then he slipped into the woods, feeling so happy that he had to stop and relate his good fortune to the first person he met.

And that was where Dickie Deer Mouse made a slight mistake.