Down in the pasture at the end of the lane lived an old woodchuck. Last
year the freshet had driven him from his childhood's home in the
corn-field by the brook, and now he resided in a snug hole in the pasture.
During their rambles one day, Fido and his little boy friend had come to
the pasture, and found the old woodchuck sitting upright at the entrance
to his hole.

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you, old Mr. Woodchuck," said Fido. "I have too
much respect for your gray hairs."

"Thank you," replied the woodchuck, sarcastically, "but I'm not afraid of
any bench-legged fyste that ever walked. It was only last week that I
whipped Deacon Skinner's yellow mastiff, and I calc'late I can trounce
you, you ridiculous little brown cur!"

The little boy did not hear this badinage. When he saw the woodchuck
solemnly perched at the entrance to his hole he was simply delighted.

"Oh, see!" cried the little boy, stretching out his fat arms and running
toward the woodchuck,--"oh, see,--'nuzzer 'ittle goggie! Turn here, 'ittle
goggie,--me love oo!"

But the old woodchuck was a shy creature, and not knowing what guile the
little boy's cordial greeting might mask, the old woodchuck discreetly
disappeared in his hole, much to the little boy's amazement.

Nevertheless, the old woodchuck, the little boy, and Fido became fast
friends in time, and almost every day they visited together in the
pasture. The old woodchuck--hoary and scarred veteran that he was--had