Page:St. Nicholas, vol. 40.1 (1912-1913).djvu/459



tapped his pipe on the log beside him to knock out the ashes, and proceeded thoughtfully to fill it up again. The Babe seated himself on the grass, clasped his arms around his bare, little, brown, mosquito-bitten knees, and stared upward hopefully, with grave, round eyes, as blue as the bluebells nodding beside him.

“Speaking of woodchucks,” began Uncle Andy presently, “I ’ve known a lot of them in my time, and I ’ve almost always found them interesting. Like some people we know, they ’re sometimes most amusing when they are most serious.

“There was Young Grumpy, now, as sober-minded a woodchuck as ever burrowed a bank. From his earliest days, he took life seriously, and never seemed to think it worth his while to play as the other wild youngsters do. Yet, in spite of himself, he was sometimes quite amusing.

“He had the good fortune to be born in the back pasture of Anderson’s farm. That was where the Boy lived, you know. And it was rather lucky to be born there,—except for weasels, of course.”

“Why not for weasels?” demanded the Babe.

“Well now, you ought to know that yourself,” replied Uncle Andy, impatient at being interrupted. “The weasels are such merciless killers themselves, that both Mr. Anderson and the Boy always made a point of putting them out of the way whenever they got a chance.”

“I should think so!” agreed the Babe, severely, resolving to devote his future to the extermination of weasels.

“Young Grumpy’s home life,” continued Uncle Andy, “with his father and mother and four brothers and sisters, was not a pampered one. There are few wild parents less given to spoiling their young than a pair of grumbling old woodchucks. The father, who spent most of his time sleeping, rolled up in a ball at the bottom of the burrow, paid them no attention except to nip at them crossly when they tumbled over him. They were always relieved when he went off, three or four times a day, down into the neighboring clover-field, to make his meals. The little ones did not see what he was good for, anyhow, till one morning, when the black-and-yellow dog from the next farm happened along. The youngsters, with their mother, were basking in the sun just outside the front door. As the dog sprang at them, they all fairly fell, head over heels, back into the burrow. The dog, immensely disappointed, set to work frantically to dig them out. He felt sure that young woodchuck would be very good to eat.

“It was then that Old Grumpy showed what he was made of. Thrusting his family rudely aside, he scurried up the burrow to the door, where the dog was making the earth fly at a most alarming rate. Without a moment’s hesitation, he sank his teeth into the rash intruder’s nose, and held on.

“The dog yelped and choked, and tried to back