“They say there’s nothing better for my trouble than tender young clover-heads,” he replied. “So I think I ought to go.... What I came home for is this: We want some spry young fellow to come along with us and be a sentinel. And I’m going to take Billy. He’s old enough now to make himself of some use.”
“I don’t want him to go,” Mrs. Woodchuck said. “He’s only a child.”
“He has ears, hasn’t he? And eyes?” her husband replied. “It’s time he helped me a little, after all I’ve done for him.”
Billy Woodchuck was sure that he wanted to go. He was listening to every word.
“What’s a sentinel?” he asked.
“A sentinel is a guard,” his father told him. “It is his duty to sit upon a knoll and watch for men and dogs, while his friends eat the clover. And if he sees or hears a man or a dog—or any other enemy—he whistles as loud as he can. That’s the danger signal. And just as soon as they hear it, all the other chucks run away.”
“Please let me go, Mother!” Billy begged.
“It’s very dangerous,” Mrs. Woodchuck objected.
“No danger at all!” Mr. Woodchuck said. “Come on!”
And off they went, though Mrs. Woodchuck was far from pleased.