Just then he happened to spy a squirrel on a stone wall. Spot promptly made for this gentleman. Keeping a firm hold on his bundle, he plunged through a tangle of blackberry bushes that grew beside the road.
The thorny brambles caught at Spot's bundle and held it fast.
"G-r-r-r!" he growled. "I don't want to lose sight of that fat fellow. Unless I'm mistaken, it was Frisky Squirrel. And I've had an eye out for him for a longtime."
[After a few frantic tugs he let go of the bundle of clothes and dashed after the squirrel.]
It was Frisky Squirrel. He ran up a tree while Spot was struggling in the blackberry thicket. And he scampered from one tree top to another while Spot followed beneath him, barking furiously.
At last Frisky stopped and sat on a limb, to chatter and scold at old dog Spot.
"What are you doing so far from home?" he demanded after a while.
"I've been swimming in the mill pond with the boys," said old dog Spot.
"Then you'd better go back there at once, unless you want a punishing later," Frisky Squirrel told him. "I can hear them whistling for you."
It wasn't far from the mill pond—that place where they were talking, for Spot's chase of Frisky Squirrel had led him back up the hill again. Now Spot cocked his ear in the direction of the pond and listened. Sure enough! he could hear Johnnie Green's whistle.