Johnnie Green hadn't carried away much more of the woodpile when old dog Spot began to dig furiously in the dirt. And in a few seconds' time he unearthed a big bone.
It was a choice bone. He had buried it several days before. And when he came back from the woods and found a woodpile on top of the place where he had hidden it, it was no wonder that he made such a howdy-do.
Johnnie Green looked much upset as he stood stock still and saw Spot trot away with the bone in his mouth.
"So that was what he was after all the time!" he cried at last. "I hoped it was a muskrat."
His father and the hired man laughed and laughed.
"I don't see any joke," Johnnie grumbled. "Here I've piled up wood enough in the shed to last a month. And I might have been fishing all the time."
"Well," said his father, "whose fault is it?"
"Old Spot's, I should think!" Johnnie replied.
"I don't see how you can blame him," said Farmer Green. "Suppose you had buried a piece of strawberry shortcake here, expecting to eat it for your dinner. And suppose there wasn't another piece as good—or as big—to be had anywhere. And suppose you had come back from a tramp in the woods, hungry as—well, hungry as you were this noon. Wouldn't you want that piece of shortcake? If you could get old Spot to move the wood off it, wouldn't you be glad to have him do it?"
"Maybe!" Johnnie admitted. "Maybe! But Spot wasn't after a piece of strawberry shortcake. He was after an old bone. And he fooled me."