When Nimble's mother first looked at him she couldn't believe she would ever be able to raise him. He was such a tiny, frail, spotted thing that he seemed too delicate for a life of adventure on the wooded ridges and in the tangled swamps under the shadow of Blue Mountain. "Bless me!" cried the good lady. "This child's not much taller than an overgrown beet top and he can't be any heavier than one of Farmer Green's prize cabbages.