Then he trotted on through the woods, and Toto, after eating a little more bark, gathered some up in his paws, and, walking on his hind legs, brought it to where his father and Sniffy were waiting for him.
“Here’s Toto,” said Sniffy.
“Where have you been?” asked Mr. Beaver.
“Oh, getting some sweet bark,” answered Toto, and he laid down on some clean moss the strips he had pulled off. “I met a dog, too.”
“A dog!” cried Mr. Beaver. “My goodness, I hope he isn’t chasing after you!” and he looked through the trees as if afraid.
“Oh, this was Don, a good dog,” explained Toto. “He’s only looking for some tramps. He won’t hurt any beavers.”
“Well, if he’s a good dog, all right,” said the beaver daddy. “But hunters’ dogs are bad—they’ll chase and bite you. I suppose they don’t know any better.”
“Where were you when Cuppy whacked with his tail just before the big tree fell?” asked Sniffy, as he nibbled at some of the tender bark his brother had brought.
“Oh, Don and I hid under a big rock,” answered Toto. “I told him the whacking sound meant danger. He didn’t know it. And it’s a good thing we hid when we did, for the tree would have crushed us if we hadn’t been under the rock. Is our tree ready to finish gnawing down, Daddy?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Beaver. “You and Sniffy may start now, and cut a little more. I’ll tell you when to stop.”