Henrietta Hen, who was one of the busiest busybodies on the farm, came along and stood and watched old dog Spot while he dug and scratched and howled about the woodpile.

"What on earth is the matter with you?" she asked him. "I don't make half that fuss when I've just laid an egg and really have something to cackle about."

"I've no time to talk with you now," Spot told Henrietta Hen. "Can't you see that Johnnie Green and I are moving the woodpile?"

"Why are you doing that?" Henrietta inquired.

"There's something beneath it that I want," he said hurriedly.

Henrietta Hen gave a sudden start.

"I wonder if it's a weasel!" she exclaimed. And since he didn't reply, and she had learned to be mortally afraid of weasels, she ran off squawking, to hide high up in the haymow in the barn.

Johnnie Green hadn't carried away much more of the woodpile when old dog Spot began to dig furiously in the dirt. And in a few seconds' time he unearthed a big bone.

It was a choice bone. He had buried it several days before. And when he came back from the woods and found a woodpile on top of the place where he had hidden it, it was no wonder that he made such a howdy-do.

Johnnie Green looked much upset as he stood stock still and saw Spot trot away with the bone in his mouth.

"So that was what he was after all the time!" he cried at last. "I hoped it was a muskrat."

His father and the hired man laughed and laughed.

"I don't see any joke," Johnnie grumbled. "Here I've piled up wood enough in the shed to last a month. And I might have been fishing all the time."

"Well," said his father, "whose fault is it?"

"Old Spot's, I should think!" Johnnie replied.

"I don't see how you can blame him," said Farmer Green. "Suppose you had buried a piece of strawberry shortcake here, expecting to eat it for your dinner. And suppose there wasn't another piece as good—or as big—to be had anywhere. And suppose you had come back from a tramp in the woods, hungry as—well, hungry as you were this noon. Wouldn't you want that piece of shortcake? If you could get old Spot to move the wood off it, wouldn't you be glad to have him do it?"

"Maybe!" Johnnie admitted. "Maybe! But Spot wasn't after a piece of strawberry shortcake. He was after an old bone. And he fooled me."

"I should say that you fooled yourself," his father retorted. "Anyhow, we're going to have strawberry shortcake for supper to-night. I heard your mother say so. And she made a special cake for you."

That news made Johnnie Green look a good deal less gloomy. In fact he almost smiled.

"I was going to give you that old fishing rod of mine if you'd help carry in the wood," Farmer Greene went on. "And you could take it now and go fishing, if you thought you could be home in time for supper."

"Hurrah!" Johnnie Green suddenly jumped up and down. "Hurrah!" he cried. "And thank you very much!"

And when, an hour later, old Spot came swimming across the creek and joined Johnnie on the further bank, and shook drops of water all over his young master, Johnnie Green only patted him and called him a "good old fellow."