“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 long, cutting teeth into the rash intruder’s nose and held on.

“The dog yelped and choked, and tried to back 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 three or four minutes—­which seemed to the dog much longer—­the old woodchuck decided to leave go.  You see, he didn’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 upon 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 stomach, 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.

“You see, the mother was brave enough, as I said before, but very careless.  She was different from the ordinary run of woodchucks, in that she had only three feet.  She had lost her left hind paw.”

“Was that because she was so careless?” asked the Babe.

Uncle Andy looked at him suspiciously.  Like so many other story-tellers, he preferred to make all the jokes himself.  He was suspicious of other people’s jokes.  But the Babe’s round, attentive eyes were as innocent as the sky.

“No,” said he gravely; “that was something she could not help.  It was an accident.  It has nothing to do with Young Grumpy, but since you’ve asked me about it I had better tell you at once and save interruptions.