“Come and see the hole I found there.”
So Chuckie Wuckie trotted along at her father’s heels. She stood watching him as he filled in the hole and smoothed down the earth.
“I did not dig it,” said Chuckie Wuckie. “I just came and looked to see if the canna had grown any through the night, but I did not dig it.”
“Really?” asked her papa, very gravely.
“Really and truly, I did not put my foot on there,” said Chuckie Wuckie.
Papa did not say another word. But he could not help thinking that the hole looked as if the iron spoon had neatly scooped it out.
Next morning he found the hole dug there again, and Chuckie Wuckie was still busy in her corner by the fence. He did not speak of it, however. There were prints of small feet on the edge. He only smoothed down the earth and raked the bed. He did this for three mornings, then he led Chuckie Wuckie again to the canna-bed.
“Papa,” she said earnestly, “I did not dig there. Truly, I didn’t. The hole is there every morning. I found it to-day before you came out, but I did not dig it.” There were tears in her brown eyes.
“I believe you, Chuckie Wuckie dear,” said her father, earnestly.
That night the little girl stood at the gate, watching for her father to jump off the car. She could hardly wait for him to kiss her. She took his hand and led him to the canna-bed.