Mr. Woodchuck hurried over to a big oak, where his friends were waiting for him. There were almost a dozen of them—fat, elderly gentlemen. But they were very spry about reaching the clover-field.
Billy felt proud as a peacock when they left him alone on a knoll at the edge of the clover-patch and told him to keep a sharp ear out.
“And remember! At the first sign of danger, you must give a loud, shrill whistle,” his father warned him. Then Mr. Woodchuck hurried away.
Billy could see his father and the others eating clover-tops as fast as they could pull them off. And he soon began to think that they were having more fun than he was. He grew tired of sitting still in one place. And just a little distance away he noticed a clump of fine clover. As the tops waved gently in the breeze they seemed to beckon to him.
Soon Billy was eating clover, too. And it was so good that he forgot all about being a sentinel. He forgot all about listening for danger. And then all at once he heard a cry:
“Sick him, Spot!”
It was Johnnie Green calling to his dog.