“Oh, yes, indeed!” cried Freya. “Is there really a badger down there?”
“Never you mind,” I said. “You don’t suppose I’d be digging a hole as deep as this one if there wasn’t something there, do you?” So I crawled out and Freya got in and went to work. I looked on a minute and then I said:
“You don’t dig very well, do you? I suppose your feet aren’t big enough.”
“They’re as big as yours,” said Freya, stopping to rest.
“Then you don’t know how to use them,” I said. “Digging is an art, and not every dachshund knows how.”
“Humph!” said Freya. “Let me see you do it, then.”
So I got back in the hole and dug as hard as ever I could, and the dirt just flew out, I tell you! “There,” I said at last, much out of breath, “that’s the way to do it!”
But when I looked around, would you believe it, that silly dog had gone! And there was William hurrying up with a stick in his hand.