Old Spot wouldn't let Johnnie Green alone. He kept jumping against him and whining, begging him to move some of the wood, because there was something very, very interesting beneath it.
Still Johnnie hesitated. He hadn't intended to do any work that afternoon.
"After all," he thought, "I'll have to help carry in this wood sooner or later. Really, I might as well take some of it into the woodshed now."
To Spot's delight he bent over and began gathering an armful of wood.
"Wow! Wow!" Spot howled. "Thank goodness I'm going to get what's under this pile, after all."
Johnnie Green carried armful after armful of wood from the yard and piled it in the shed back of the kitchen. All the time old dog Spot was urging him with yelps and barks and whines and moans to move faster. And all the time Johnnie Green was working as spryly as he could.
Whatever it might be that Spot wanted to get under the woodpile in the yard, Johnnie hoped it wouldn't escape through the crevices between the sticks.
"I don't want to get myself all tired out for nothing," Johnnie said to himself. "I was going fishing this afternoon."
While Johnnie hurried back and forth between the woodpile and the shed Spot clawed away at the edge of the pile. He thrust his nose beneath loose sticks and pushed them about. He uttered pitiful sounds.
"I never saw that dog take on so," Farmer Green remarked.