  "PAPA," said Twinkle, when supper was over and she was nestled snugly in his lap, "I wish you wouldn't set any more traps for the woodchucks." "Why not, my darling?" he asked in surprise. "They're cruel," she answered. "It must hurt the poor animals dreadfully to be caught in them." "I suppose it does," said her father, thoughtfully. "But if I don't trap the woodchucks they eat our clover and vegetables." "Never mind that," said Twinkle, earnestly. "Let's divide with them. God made the woodchucks, you know, just as He made us, and they can't plant and grow things as we do; so they have to take what they can get, or starve to death. And surely, papa, there's enough to eat in this big and beautiful world, for all of God's creatures." Papa whistled softly, although his face was grave; and then he bent down and kissed his little girl's forehead. "I won't set any more traps, dear," he said. And that evening, after Twinkle had been tucked snugly away in bed, her father walked slowly through the sweet-smelling fields to the woodchuck's hole; there lay the trap, showing plainly in the bright moonlight. He picked it up and carried it back to the barn. It was never used again. THE END Twinkle's father removes the trap
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