When Billy Woodchuck turned around he saw that dog Spot was coming straight toward him. Billy dropped the big clover-top he was just cramming into his mouth; and he ran as fast as he could go for a little way. Then he stopped and crouched low in the thick clover. But old Spot came bounding after him.

Again Billy made a quick dash. Again he stopped to hide. And this time what should he see right in front of him but the door of an old woodchuck’s burrow! He whisked inside it in a hurry and plunged headlong down to the long tunnel, where he knew he was safe. Above him he could hear old Spot barking, and Johnnie Green talking. But he was no longer afraid.

Then suddenly Billy remembered that he was a sentinel. And he had forgotten to whistle! He had forgotten to warn his father and his friends that they were in danger!

Billy Woodchuck wondered what would happen to them. Though Spot soon stopped barking, Billy did not dare leave his hiding place. He only hoped that the old chucks had heard the noise and had run away in time. Of course, he would be very sorry if any of them should get caught—especially his father. And yet the more he thought, the surer he was that if his father reached home the old gentleman would be very angry. No matter what happened, Billy Woodchuck saw that he was in great trouble.

It was almost dark when Billy at last left the old burrow and stole home. Even before he had reached the end of the long tunnel he could hear a loud groaning in the family bedroom beyond.

It was his father. And as Billy slipped inside the chamber he saw that his mother was bending over Mr. Woodchuck and trying to quiet him.

“What’s the matter?” Billy asked.

And at that Mr. Woodchuck sprang to his feet. But his wife made him lie down again. And she seemed pleased to see her son once more.

“Your father has been in a fight,” Mrs. Woodchuck said. “When the dog chased him he ran into an old woodchuck’s burrow.”

“That’s just what I did, too!” Billy exclaimed.

“Yes; but there was a weasel in the one in which your father hid,” his mother explained. “And your poor father’s nose is badly bitten.”

“It’s all his fault,” Mr. Woodchuck said, meaning Billy, of course. “He was a sentinel—and he ran away without warning us.”

“I didn’t have time,” Billy whimpered.

“If he were a soldier, he would be shot,” his father said, crossly.

Mrs. Woodchuck told her husband that he had better try to go to sleep.

“I said that Billy was too young to take to the clover field,” she reminded him.

Mr. Woodchuck groaned again.

“Does your nose still pain you?” she asked.

“It’s my back,” he answered. “I am afraid I hurt it again. And I don’t suppose I shall be able to do another stroke of work all the rest of the summer.”

Somehow, that did not seem to worry Mrs. Woodchuck at all. To tell the truth, she knew very well that her husband was lazy.

“I shall punish this boy to-morrow—if my back is strong enough,” Mr. Woodchuck said.

But the next day Mr. Woodchuck was so busy sunning himself that he never found time to punish Billy after all.