Old Spot wouldn't let Johnnie Green alone. He kept jumping against him and whining, begging him to move some of the wood, because there was something very, very interesting beneath it.

Still Johnnie hesitated. He hadn't intended to do any work that afternoon.

"After all," he thought, "I'll have to help carry in this wood sooner or later. Really, I might as well take some of it into the woodshed now."

To Spot's delight he bent over and began gathering an armful of wood.

"Wow! Wow!" Spot howled. "Thank goodness I'm going to get what's under this pile, after all."

Johnnie Green carried armful after armful of wood from the yard and piled it in the shed back of the kitchen. All the time old dog Spot was urging him with yelps and barks and whines and moans to move faster. And all the time Johnnie Green was working as spryly as he could.

Whatever it might be that Spot wanted to get under the woodpile in the yard, Johnnie hoped it wouldn't escape through the crevices between the sticks.

"I don't want to get myself all tired out for nothing," Johnnie said to himself. "I was going fishing this afternoon."

While Johnnie hurried back and forth between the woodpile and the shed Spot clawed away at the edge of the pile. He thrust his nose beneath loose sticks and pushed them about. He uttered pitiful sounds.

"I never saw that dog take on so," Farmer Green remarked.

"And I never saw Johnnie work so hard," said the hired man. "When there's wood to be carried in he's usually a mile away."

Farmer Green laughed.

"He'll quit as soon as Spot gets what he wants," he replied. "It's too bad this sort of thing doesn't happen oftener. Except for driving the cows home, this is the first time I ever knew a boy and a dog to do much besides play, when they're together."

Turkey Proudfoot, the huge gobbler, came hurrying around the corner of the barn to see what was going on. He had an idea that he ruled the farmyard.

"What's all this row about?" he gobbled at old Spot. "Have you lost something?"

"Yes!" Spot told him. "Johnnie Green's helping me to find it. We're moving part of the woodpile."

"What did you lose?" Turkey Proudfoot demanded.

Old Spot pretended not to hear him. He began barking again at Johnnie Green.

Mr. Catbird, who loved to play jokes on everybody, started mewing from his hiding place under the lilac bushes. He had noticed Spot's antics. And he hoped to fool him into thinking there was a strange cat around the place. For Spot was a famous chaser of all cats—so long as they kept running away from him and didn't turn around and try to scratch him.

To Mr. Catbird's astonishment old Spot paid no heed to his catcalls.

"This is queer," Mr. Catbird muttered. "Whenever I've mewed before he has always come a-running. There must be something uncommonly interesting under that woodpile."