THAT'S so, Son," said Old Bob the gardener, "and that being so, you'd better make hay while the sun shines."

Buddy was used to Old Bob the gardener, and his funny sayings, and so he knew that he didn't really mean that about making hay, because the hay had been made for months, but that he must do whatever there was to be done and not waste time about it.

So he said, "What were you going to tell me to do, Bob?"

"Why," said Old Bob the gardener, with a twinkle in his eye, "I s'pose you don't mean to make the squirrels a present of all the hazel-nuts up in the back pasture, do you?"

"Why, no," said Buddy.

"Well," said Old Bob, "they will be just right to gather today, on account of the frost last night, and if you will spread them out on the flat roof of the garage for a few days the shucks will come off beautifully."

"Thanks for telling me, Bob," said Buddy. "I'll go and get some today."

"They will come in handy evenings in the city," said Old Bob the gardener.

Buddy's smile faded out. He didn't want to go back to the city. But the smile blossomed again right away. He didn't have to go for a few more weeks anyway. "I'll get a basket," said he, "and go right away for the nuts."

"A sack will be much better," said Old Bob the gardener, "it will be easier to carry. Ask Mary the cook for one."

Mary the cook had a flour sack, which she was glad to give to Buddy. She also gave him some sandwiches for his lunch, so that he need not hurry back.

Buddy whistled to Old Dog Sandy, and the two started gaily for the back pasture. There was no hurry, so he thought he would go and see if there were any thorn-apples left. There was a big old hawthorn tree, with low branches, standing all by itself in the pasture. There was a funny sort of ring around it, like a tiny circus ring. Buddy had once asked Old Bob the gardener about it; what had caused it. And he had said that he really didn't know; that it had always been there since he could remember; but that his old grandmother, who came from Ireland, had told him when he was little that it was a fairy ring. Made by the feet of the fairies, when they danced in the moonlight. That they always danced around hawthorn trees.

As Buddy came near to the tree he was thinking about Old Bob's story of the fairies, and wishing he could see them. He was sure he could hear something that sounded like wings rustling, and little voices whispering; it came from the branches of the old hawthorn. For a minute he thought perhaps the tree was full of fairies, resting after their dance in the moonlight. And then Old Dog Sandy came running up, and began to bark, and a whole flock of Bob Whites arose from the tree, and flew away with a whirr into the woods. They had been lunching on the thorn-apples.

"Now see what you've done, Sandy," said Buddy. "You must be more careful; I don't want you to frighten the Little Neighbors. I am always telling you so. Just once more now, and I shall send you home."

Old Dog Sandy hung his head; he just couldn't seem to remember that he must not bark at things; anyway, wild things; they didn't belong to anyone, he thought.

Buddy Jim took only a handful of the crimson thorn-apples; they were not so very good, anyway; and besides, he felt that they belonged to the birds, and it was hazel-nuts that he had come for.

As he got to the hazel thicket he heard small voices chattering and laughing, and caught a glimpse of Red Squirrel and his family, with their pockets just bulging with the hazel-nuts.

When they saw him they all whisked up in a big tree, and hid in the branches. "Don't be afraid, Little Neighbors," called Buddy. "We won't hurt you; it is only when you steal eggs that we don't like you."

But Red Squirrel and his family would not come back. They thought that he might be like other boys they had met, and that he would follow them to their nests, and take away their winter supply of nicely-shelled nuts.

So Buddy started filling his sack with the crisp green and brown clusters of nuts, thinking what a treat they would be for the boys in the city, winter evenings after school. The sack was soon filled, there were so many nuts, and then Buddy sat down to eat his sandwiches and listen to the sounds around him. There was Old Jim Crow's "Ha, Ha," as he flew away from the corn field, and the clear whistle of the Bob Whites as they went back to the hawthorn to finish their lunch, and the "Quick, quick," of Mr. Blue Jay, who is always in a hurry over nothing at all, when suddenly Old Dog Sandy began to bark. Mixed with his barking and growling was a scolding, chattering voice that Buddy had never heard before.

"I wonder," said he to himself, running toward the noises, "what that meddlesome old dog is up to now?"

Old Dog Sandy was dancing about as nimbly as a puppy, in front of a tunnel in the side of a little hillock, barking at a funny little fat figure, which was sitting straight up, with its fore paws hanging down in front of itself.

Old Dog Sandy saw his little master coming, and stopped his barking, for he remembered just too late that he was to be sent home. Just then the little fellow in the tunnel door saw Buddy. "I say," he called, "call off your dog. He makes me nervous; if he comes any nearer I shall bite him. And I can't go indoors until my mate comes back. How do I know he would not kill her, he's so savage? And she's so fat she can't run."

"Go on home, Sandy," said Buddy. "I told you, you know." "Oh don't send him off alone," said the small person, "I don't know which way my mate is coming back; dogs can't be trusted. He might meet her and tear her all to pieces. They always kill all wild creatures," he said. "That's part of their game; just their nature; they can't help it; we have to look out for them, that's all. But I do not want my mate killed, so will you please take him with you when you go?"

"Are you in a hurry for me to go?" asked Buddy, laughing. "Well," said the small person, trying politely not to yawn, "I really am a little sleepy, you know. My mate said she just had to have one more dinner before we go to sleep, so she went over to the turnip field to get it, and I wasn't hungry so I promised to wind the alarm clock. I had just come out to get the correct time from Mr. Sun, when your old dog came along."

"Do you really mean that you have a clock to get up by?" asked Buddy. "Why not? Don't you?" asked the small person. "Though our clock is not like yours; ours is a sort of calendar clock. We must wake up on Candlemas day, you know, else nobody would know what the weather was going to be for the balance of the winter."

"Oh, now I know who you are," said Buddy. "You're Mr. Ground-Hog. Bob the gardener told me about you."

"Some folks call me that, and some folks call me Wood-Chuck," said the small person. "I don't care either way, so long as they do not call me before February the second. But my mate is coming back, so if you will take your dog away so that she can come in, I'll be much obliged to you."

So Buddy and Old Dog Sandy stepped behind a big rock. Buddy peeped out and saw fat little Mrs. Wood-Chuck waddling along, blinking sleepily in the sun. As she joined her mate, in the door of their house, Mr. Wood-Chuck turned and waved a friendly goodbye to Buddy, who slung his sack of nuts over his shoulder and started home.

"Old Dog Sandy found a wood-chuck's hole up in the pasture," said Buddy to Old Bob the gardener, while they were spreading the nuts on the garage roof.

"Did you see them?" asked Old Bob the gardener. "Yes, I did," said Buddy. "They were very fat and sleepy."

"They were just going to den up," said Old Bob the gardener; "they will sleep till Candlemas day now."

"Do they really come out to find their shadow on that day, Bob?" asked Buddy.

"Guess they must," said Old Bob the gardener, "every body says so," and he went away humming to himself,