out of the hole in a hurry. But it was no use. The old woodchuck had a solid grip, and was pulling with all his might in the other direction. Panic-stricken, and half smothered by the dry earth, the dog dug in his hind claws, bent his back like a bow, and pulled for all he was worth, yelling till you might have thought there were half a dozen dogs in that hole. At last, after perhaps two or three minutes—which seemed to the dog much longer—the old woodchuck decided to let go. You see, he did n’t really want that dog, or even that dog’s nose, in the burrow. So he opened his jaws, suddenly. At that, the dog went right over backward, all four legs in the air, like a wooden dog. But the next instant, he was on his feet again, and tearing away like mad down the pasture, ki-yi-ing like a whipped puppy, although he was a grown-up dog and ought to have been ashamed of himself to make such a noise. And never after that, they tell me, could he be persuaded under any circumstances to go within fifteen feet of anything that looked like a woodchuck hole.”
“I ’m not one bit sorry for him,” muttered the Babe, in spite of himself. “He had no business there at all.”
“The mother of the woodchuck family,” went on Uncle Andy, “was not so cross as the father, but she was very careless. She would sit up on her fat haunches in the door of the burrow while the babies were nibbling around outside, pretending to keep an eye on them. But half the time she would be sound asleep, with her head dropped straight down on her chest, between her little black paws. One day, as she was dozing thus comfortably, a marsh-hawk came flapping low overhead, and pounced on one of the youngsters before it had time to more than squeak. At the sound of that despairing squeak, to be sure, she woke up, and made a savage rush at the enemy. But the wary bird was already in the air, with the prize drooping from his talons. And the mother could do nothing but sit up and chatter after him abusively as he sailed away to his nest.
“But to return to Young Grumpy. While he was yet very young, his sleepy mother, who had seen him and his brothers and sisters eating grass very comfortably, decided that they were big enough to look out for themselves. Then she turned them all out of the burrow. When they came presently scurrying back again, hoping it was all an unhappy joke, she nipped them most unfeelingly. Their father snored. There was no help in that quarter. They scuttled dejectedly forth again.
“Outside, in the short pasture-grass and scattered ox-eyed daisies, they looked at each other suspiciously; and each felt that, somehow, it was the other fellow’s fault. Aggrieved and miserable, they went rambling off, each his own way, to face alone what fate might have in store for him. And Young Grumpy, looking up from a melancholy but consoling feast which he was making on a mushroom, found himself alone in the world.
“He did n’t care a fig. You see, he was so grumpy.
“For a week or more, he wandered about the pasture, sleeping under stumps and in mossy hollows, and fortunately escaping, by reason of his light rusty-gray color, the eyes of passing hawks. At last, chance, or his nose for good living, led him down to the clover meadow adjoining Anderson’s barn-yard.
“It was here that his adventures may be said to have begun.
“Just as he was happily filling himself with clover, a white dog, with short-cropped ears standing up stiffly, came by and stopped to look at him with bright, interested eyes. Young Grumpy, though the stranger was big enough to take him in two mouthfuls, felt not frightened, but annoyed. He gave a chuckling squeak of defiance, and rushed straight at the dog.
“Now this was the Boy’s bull-terrier, Major, and he had been severely trained to let small, helpless creatures alone. He had got it into his head that all such creatures were the Boy’s property, and so to be guarded and respected. He was afraid lest he might hurt this cross little animal and get into trouble with the Boy. So he kept jumping out of the way, stiff-leggedly, as if very much amused, and at the same time, he kept barking, as if to call the Boy to come and see. Young Grumpy, feeling very big, followed him up with short, threatening rushes, till he found himself just at the open gate leading into the farm-yard.
“Parading solemnly before the gate was a tall, gray gander with only one eye. That one eye, extra keen and fierce, caught sight of Young Grumpy, and probably mistook him for an immense rat, thief of eggs, and murderer of goslings. With a harsh hiss and neck outstretched till it was like a snake, the great bird darted at him.
“Young Grumpy hesitated. After the manner of his kind, he sat up on his haunches to hesitate. The gander seemed to him very queer, and perhaps dangerous.
“At this critical moment, the white dog interfered. In his eyes Young Grumpy belonged to the Boy, and was, therefore, valuable property. He ran at the gander. The gander, recognizing
