Mrs. Woodchuck was on her way home, waddling across the pasture. She had been making a call on Aunt Polly Woodchuck, the herb doctor, who lived under the hill. They had talked over all the news in the neighborhood. And Mrs. Woodchuck had her mind on some gossip that Aunt Polly had told her. Otherwise she might have noticed sooner that old dog Spot had spied her.

If he hadn't spoken he would certainly have caught her that time. For Mrs. Woodchuck was fat and couldn't run as fast as she used to. But when Spot's keen nose caught a scent that told him there was one of the Woodchuck family not far away he just had to give one long-drawn howl.

When Mrs. Woodchuck heard that dreadful sound she scurried for home. She dropped her knitting and the apple that Aunt Polly had given her. And she only managed to pop down the hole that was her front door with Spot scarcely a length behind her.

"Just missed her!" the old dog yelped. "How unlucky!"

"Just escaped!" Mrs. Woodchuck gasped. "How fortunate!"

She knew that she was safe. So she took her own time in crawling through the long hall that led to her one-room dwelling.

"Dear me!" she exclaimed as she entered her underground home and saw that it was empty. "Mr. Woodchuck and Billy are away. I must hurry and warn them that old dog Spot is prowling about the pasture."

Meanwhile Spot lingered at Mrs. Woodchuck's front door. He scratched in the dirt that was thrown up before it. He sniffed at the tracks that the Woodchuck family had made all about.

"I know now where that fat Mrs. Woodchuck lives," he growled. "I'll keep an eye on this hole. Some day I may be able to get between her and her home. And then—"

He did not finish what he was saying, but licked his lips as if he had just enjoyed a hearty meal.

For a long time Spot waited there. He could hardly have expected Mrs. Woodchuck to come out and invite him to enter her house. The most that she was likely to do would be to creep not quite to the upper end of her front hall and peer out to see what she could through the small round opening.

"That dame must have a family," Spot thought. "I'd like to meet them—whether there's one youngster or seven. The more the merrier for me."

If Spot had happened to look around just then he would have had his wish granted. Or if the wind had been blowing the other way he could have told, without looking around, that Mrs. Woodchuck's son Billy was gazing at him, with popeyes, from behind a near-by hummock. He had meandered homewards, pausing here and there to nip off a clover head or tear at a plantain leaf, little dreaming that old dog Spot was right in his door-yard.

When he caught sight of the unwelcome caller Billy sat up and took one good, long look at him.

Then Mrs Woodchuck's son turned and ran down the hillside as fast as his short legs would carry him. He didn't stop until he had reached the fence between the pasture and the meadow. Dashing in among the brakes that grew deep along the fence he cowered under the cover that they gave him.

All at once he felt quite ashamed of himself.

"I almost forgot the rule!" he chattered. "The rule says, 'When there's a Dog about, warn everybody!'"