Now that he had had his dinner, Johnnie Green was all ready for any sort of fun.
"Spot smells some kind of game in the woodpile!" Johnnie exclaimed.
"Perhaps he does," said his father. "But I don't see how he's going to get hold of it unless we move the woodpile. And I don't believe we'll quit work to help the old dog catch a chipmunk—or maybe a rat."
"Come on!" Spot begged Johnnie, as plainly as he could bark. "Move some of this wood for me! There's something under it that I want to get my teeth on."
"All right! All right!" Johnnie told him. And to his father Johnnie said, "Do you care if I throw some of the stove wood over on the other side of the pile?"
"If you're going to move any wood—" Farmer Green replied with a wink at the hired man—"if you're going to move any wood you might as well move it into the woodshed and pile it up neatly."
When he heard that suggestion Johnnie Green looked very glum. For a minute or two he thought he wouldn't bother to help old Spot find what he was looking for. But Spot teased and teased. And Johnnie couldn't help being curious to know what it was that Spot was after.
"Maybe there's a muskrat here," he said to himself. "If there is, I'll have his skin to pay me for my trouble."