After the last mouse had left his hole, Nibble went in to see what they had done. He came out again in a hurry. “Whew!” he said to Doctor Muskrat. “I’ll have to sleep in the Pickery Things to-night. It’s all mousy in there. But they’ve plucked that sleepy old woodchuck as bare as an egg.”
And Doctor Muskrat chuckled. “Just you wait until he wakes up in the spring!”
That wasn’t till a long way after St. Patrick’s Day, when the little gray pussies hung on all the willows. And he took three whole days to wake up in. For the first day he just grunted and groaned and made the noise that the woodsfolk take his name from. “Snoof, snoof!” he’d go as though he were trying to sneeze, but was too lazy to do it. And the minute he did that, Nibble hurried down to Doctor Muskrat in the marsh and told him about it.
“Very good,” said Doctor Muskrat. “Tell me how he behaves to-morrow.”
On the second day Snoof Woodchuck had turned over in the hole with his feet in the air and was acting as a dog does when he has a dream. Nibble told Doctor Muskrat.
“Very well,” said the Doctor. “He’ll stand on them to-morrow, and we’ll all be there to greet him.” Then he waddled off to the hollow stump where Great-grandfather Fieldmouse lives. And Great-grandfather Fieldmouse poked his head out.
“Well, well?” he demanded in his crotchety voice, because he’s very old— so old that his ears are all crinkled. “What do you want now?”
“I just wanted to let you know that to-morrow morning Snoof Woodchuck will take the air an hour after sun-up,” said Doctor Muskrat very politely.
“Well, what’s that got to do with me?” demanded Great-grandfather Fieldmouse.
“I let you know because we’re such old friends,” said Doctor Muskrat. “Surely you remember that as long as the mice kept up the good old custom of gathering to thank the woodchuck, the woodchuck stayed here and you always had your charm.”