We felt so sorry that we stopped and dug a hole by the roadside and gave the flattened little hero a very distinguished burial." "Oh, but he must have been crazy!" exclaimed the Babe, rubbing his leg thoughtfully and congratulating himself that he had not lingered to study the being which had rushed at him in the underbrush.
"Perhaps," said Uncle Andy dryly.

"If I remember rightly, that's just what has been said of lots of heroes before now." He tapped his pipe on the log beside him to knock out the ashes, and proceeded thoughtfully to fill it up again.

This second filling the Babe had learned to regard as a very hopeful sign.

It usually meant that Uncle Andy was in the vein.

Seating himself on the grass directly in front of his uncle, the Babe clasped his arms around his bare little brown, mosquito-bitten knees, and stared upward hopefully with grave, round eyes, as blue as the bluebells nodding beside him.
"Speaking of woodchucks," began Uncle Andy presently, "I've known a lot of them in my time, and I've almost always found them interesting.