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He was quite as unhappy as he had been before he met little Mrs. Whitefoot .
You see , he was even more lonely than he had been then .
And added to this loneliness was that hurt feeling , which made it ever and ever so much worse .
It was very hard to bear .
`` If I could understand it , it would n't be so bad , '' he kept saying over and over again to himself , `` but I do n't understand it .
I do n't understand why Mrs. Whitefoot does n't love me any more . ''
CHAPTER XXXII : The Surprise Surprises sometimes are so great You 're tempted to believe in fate .
-- Whitefoot .
One never-to-be forgotten evening Whitefoot met Mrs. Whitefoot and she invited him to come back to their home .
Of course Whitefoot was delighted .
`` Sh-h-h , '' said little Mrs. Whitefoot , as Whitefoot entered the snug little room of the house they had built in the old nest of Melody the Wood Thrush .
Whitefoot hesitated .
In the first place , it was dark in there .
In the second place , he had the feeling that somehow that little bedroom seemed crowded .
It had n't been that way the last time he was there .
Mrs. Whitefoot was right in front of him , and she seemed very much excited about something .
Presently she crowded to one side .
`` Come here and look , '' said she .
Whitefoot looked .
In the middle of a soft bed of moss was a squirming mass of legs and funny little heads .
At first that was all Whitefoot could make out .
`` Do n't you think this is the most wonderful surprise that ever was ? ''
whispered little Mrs. Whitefoot .
`` Are n't they darlings ?
Are n't you proud of them ? ''
By this time Whitefoot had made out that that squirming mass of legs and heads was composed of baby Mice .
He counted them .
There were four .
`` Whose are they , and what are they doing here ? ''
Whitefoot asked in a queer voice .
`` Why , you old stupid , they are yours , -- yours and mine , '' declared little Mrs. Whitefoot .
`` Did you ever , ever see such beautiful babies ?
Now I guess you understand why I kept you away from here . ''
Whitefoot shook his head .
`` No , '' said he , `` I do n't understand at all .
I do n't see yet what you drove me away for . ''
`` Why , you blessed old dear , there was n't room for you when those babies came ; I had to have all the room there was .
It would n't have done to have had you running in and out and disturbing them when they were so tiny .
I had to be alone with them , and that is why I made you go off and live by yourself .
I am so proud of them , I do n't know what to do .
Are n't you proud , Whitefoot ?
Are n't you the proudest Wood Mouse in all the Green Forest ? ''
Of course Whitefoot should have promptly said that he was , but the truth is , Whitefoot was n't proud at all .
You see , he was so surprised that he had n't yet had time to feel that they were really his .
In fact , just then he felt a wee bit jealous of them .
It came over him that they would take all the time and attention of little Mrs. Whitefoot .
So Whitefoot did n't answer that question .
He simply sat and stared at those four squirming babies .
Finally little Mrs. Whitefoot gently pushed him out and followed him .
`` Of course , '' said she , `` there is n't room for you to stay here now .
You will have to sleep in your old home because there is n't room in here for both of us and the babies too . ''
Whitefoot 's heart sank .
He had thought that he was to stay and that everything would be just as it had been before .
`` Ca n't I come over here any more ? ''
he asked rather timidly .
`` What a foolish question ! ''
cried little Mrs. Whitefoot .
`` Of course you can .
You will have to help take care of these babies .
Just as soon as they are big enough , you will have to help teach them how to hunt for food and how to watch out for danger , and all the things that a wise Wood Mouse knows .
Why , they could n't get along without you .
Neither could I , '' she added softly .
At that Whitefoot felt better .
And suddenly there was a queer swelling in his heart .
It was the beginning of pride , pride in those wonderful babies .
`` You have given me the best surprise that ever was , my dear , '' said Whitefoot softly .
`` Now I think I will go and look for some supper . ''
So now we will leave Whitefoot and his family .
You see there are two very lively little people of the Green Forest who demand attention and insist on having it .
_BOOK_TITLE_ : Washington_Irving___The_Legend_of_Sleepy_Hollow.txt.out
FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER .
A pleasing land of drowsy head it was , Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye ; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass , Forever flushing round a summer sky .
CASTLE OF INDOLENCE .
In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson , at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee , and where they always prudently shortened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed , there lies a small market town or rural port , which by some is called Greensburgh , but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town .
This name was given , we are told , in former days , by the good housewives of the adjacent country , from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days .
Be that as it may , I do not vouch for the fact , but merely advert to it , for the sake of being precise and authentic .
Not far from this village , perhaps about two miles , there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills , which is one of the quietest places in the whole world .
A small brook glides through it , with just murmur enough to lull one to repose ; and the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity .
I recollect that , when a stripling , my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley .
I had wandered into it at noontime , when all nature is peculiarly quiet , and was startled by the roar of my own gun , as it broke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes .
If ever I should wish for a retreat whither I might steal from the world and its distractions , and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life , I know of none more promising than this little valley .
From the listless repose of the place , and the peculiar character of its inhabitants , who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers , this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of SLEEPY HOLLOW , and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the neighboring country .
A drowsy , dreamy influence seems to hang over the land , and to pervade the very atmosphere .
Some say that the place was bewitched by a High German doctor , during the early days of the settlement ; others , that an old Indian chief , the prophet or wizard of his tribe , held his powwows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson .
Certain it is , the place still continues under the sway of some witching power , that holds a spell over the minds of the good people , causing them to walk in a continual reverie .
They are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs , are subject to trances and visions , and frequently see strange sights , and hear music and voices in the air .
The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales , haunted spots , and twilight superstitions ; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any other part of the country , and the nightmare , with her whole ninefold , seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols .
The dominant spirit , however , that haunts this enchanted region , and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air , is the apparition of a figure on horseback , without a head .
It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper , whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball , in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War , and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night , as if on the wings of the wind .
His haunts are not confined to the valley , but extend at times to the adjacent roads , and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance .
Indeed , certain of the most authentic historians of those parts , who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre , allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the churchyard , the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head , and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow , like a midnight blast , is owing to his being belated , and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak .
Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition , which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows ; and the spectre is known at all the country firesides , by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow .
It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley , but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides there for a time .
However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region , they are sure , in a little time , to inhale the witching influence of the air , and begin to grow imaginative , to dream dreams , and see apparitions .
I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud , for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys , found here and there embosomed in the great State of New York , that population , manners , and customs remain fixed , while the great torrent of migration and improvement , which is making such incessant changes in other parts of this restless country , sweeps by them unobserved .
They are like those little nooks of still water , which border a rapid stream , where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor , or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor , undisturbed by the rush of the passing current .
Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow , yet I question whether I should not still find the same trees and the same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom .
In this by-place of nature there abode , in a remote period of American history , that is to say , some thirty years since , a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane , who sojourned , or , as he expressed it , `` tarried , '' in Sleepy Hollow , for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity .
He was a native of Connecticut , a State which supplies the Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest , and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters .
The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person .

He was quite as unhappy as he had been before he met little Mrs. Whitefoot .

You see , he was even more lonely than he had been then .

And added to this loneliness was that hurt feeling , which made it ever and ever so much worse .

It was very hard to bear .

`` If I could understand it , it would n't be so bad , '' he kept saying over and over again to himself , `` but I do n't understand it .

I do n't understand why Mrs. Whitefoot does n't love me any more . ''

CHAPTER XXXII : The Surprise Surprises sometimes are so great You 're tempted to believe in fate .

-- Whitefoot .

One never-to-be forgotten evening Whitefoot met Mrs. Whitefoot and she invited him to come back to their home .

Of course Whitefoot was delighted .

`` Sh-h-h , '' said little Mrs. Whitefoot , as Whitefoot entered the snug little room of the house they had built in the old nest of Melody the Wood Thrush .

Whitefoot hesitated .

In the first place , it was dark in there .

In the second place , he had the feeling that somehow that little bedroom seemed crowded .

It had n't been that way the last time he was there .

Mrs. Whitefoot was right in front of him , and she seemed very much excited about something .

Presently she crowded to one side .

`` Come here and look , '' said she .

Whitefoot looked .

In the middle of a soft bed of moss was a squirming mass of legs and funny little heads .

At first that was all Whitefoot could make out .

`` Do n't you think this is the most wonderful surprise that ever was ? ''

whispered little Mrs. Whitefoot .

`` Are n't they darlings ?

Are n't you proud of them ? ''

By this time Whitefoot had made out that that squirming mass of legs and heads was composed of baby Mice .

He counted them .

There were four .

`` Whose are they , and what are they doing here ? ''

Whitefoot asked in a queer voice .

`` Why , you old stupid , they are yours , -- yours and mine , '' declared little Mrs. Whitefoot .

`` Did you ever , ever see such beautiful babies ?

Now I guess you understand why I kept you away from here . ''

Whitefoot shook his head .

`` No , '' said he , `` I do n't understand at all .

I do n't see yet what you drove me away for . ''

`` Why , you blessed old dear , there was n't room for you when those babies came ; I had to have all the room there was .

It would n't have done to have had you running in and out and disturbing them when they were so tiny .

I had to be alone with them , and that is why I made you go off and live by yourself .

I am so proud of them , I do n't know what to do .

Are n't you proud , Whitefoot ?

Are n't you the proudest Wood Mouse in all the Green Forest ? ''

Of course Whitefoot should have promptly said that he was , but the truth is , Whitefoot was n't proud at all .

You see , he was so surprised that he had n't yet had time to feel that they were really his .

In fact , just then he felt a wee bit jealous of them .

It came over him that they would take all the time and attention of little Mrs. Whitefoot .

So Whitefoot did n't answer that question .

He simply sat and stared at those four squirming babies .

Finally little Mrs. Whitefoot gently pushed him out and followed him .

`` Of course , '' said she , `` there is n't room for you to stay here now .

You will have to sleep in your old home because there is n't room in here for both of us and the babies too . ''

Whitefoot 's heart sank .

He had thought that he was to stay and that everything would be just as it had been before .

`` Ca n't I come over here any more ? ''

he asked rather timidly .

`` What a foolish question ! ''

cried little Mrs. Whitefoot .

`` Of course you can .

You will have to help take care of these babies .

Just as soon as they are big enough , you will have to help teach them how to hunt for food and how to watch out for danger , and all the things that a wise Wood Mouse knows .

Why , they could n't get along without you .

Neither could I , '' she added softly .

At that Whitefoot felt better .

And suddenly there was a queer swelling in his heart .

It was the beginning of pride , pride in those wonderful babies .

`` You have given me the best surprise that ever was , my dear , '' said Whitefoot softly .

`` Now I think I will go and look for some supper . ''

So now we will leave Whitefoot and his family .

You see there are two very lively little people of the Green Forest who demand attention and insist on having it .

_BOOK_TITLE_ : Washington_Irving___The_Legend_of_Sleepy_Hollow.txt.out

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER .

A pleasing land of drowsy head it was , Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye ; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass , Forever flushing round a summer sky .

CASTLE OF INDOLENCE .

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson , at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee , and where they always prudently shortened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed , there lies a small market town or rural port , which by some is called Greensburgh , but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town .

This name was given , we are told , in former days , by the good housewives of the adjacent country , from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days .

Be that as it may , I do not vouch for the fact , but merely advert to it , for the sake of being precise and authentic .

Not far from this village , perhaps about two miles , there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills , which is one of the quietest places in the whole world .

A small brook glides through it , with just murmur enough to lull one to repose ; and the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity .

I recollect that , when a stripling , my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley .

I had wandered into it at noontime , when all nature is peculiarly quiet , and was startled by the roar of my own gun , as it broke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes .

If ever I should wish for a retreat whither I might steal from the world and its distractions , and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life , I know of none more promising than this little valley .

From the listless repose of the place , and the peculiar character of its inhabitants , who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers , this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of SLEEPY HOLLOW , and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the neighboring country .

A drowsy , dreamy influence seems to hang over the land , and to pervade the very atmosphere .

Some say that the place was bewitched by a High German doctor , during the early days of the settlement ; others , that an old Indian chief , the prophet or wizard of his tribe , held his powwows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson .

Certain it is , the place still continues under the sway of some witching power , that holds a spell over the minds of the good people , causing them to walk in a continual reverie .

They are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs , are subject to trances and visions , and frequently see strange sights , and hear music and voices in the air .

The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales , haunted spots , and twilight superstitions ; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any other part of the country , and the nightmare , with her whole ninefold , seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols .

The dominant spirit , however , that haunts this enchanted region , and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air , is the apparition of a figure on horseback , without a head .

It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper , whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball , in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War , and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night , as if on the wings of the wind .

His haunts are not confined to the valley , but extend at times to the adjacent roads , and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance .

Indeed , certain of the most authentic historians of those parts , who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre , allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the churchyard , the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head , and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow , like a midnight blast , is owing to his being belated , and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak .

Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition , which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows ; and the spectre is known at all the country firesides , by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow .

It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley , but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides there for a time .

However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region , they are sure , in a little time , to inhale the witching influence of the air , and begin to grow imaginative , to dream dreams , and see apparitions .

I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud , for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys , found here and there embosomed in the great State of New York , that population , manners , and customs remain fixed , while the great torrent of migration and improvement , which is making such incessant changes in other parts of this restless country , sweeps by them unobserved .

They are like those little nooks of still water , which border a rapid stream , where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor , or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor , undisturbed by the rush of the passing current .

Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow , yet I question whether I should not still find the same trees and the same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom .

In this by-place of nature there abode , in a remote period of American history , that is to say , some thirty years since , a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane , who sojourned , or , as he expressed it , `` tarried , '' in Sleepy Hollow , for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity .

He was a native of Connecticut , a State which supplies the Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest , and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters .

The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person .