"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. Like
some people we know, they're sometimes most amusing when they are most
serious."
"_Amusing_!" exclaimed the Babe, with a world of meaning in his voice.
That was the last word he expected to apply to such a bad-tempered little
beast.
But his uncle paid no heed to the interruption.
"There was 'Young Grumpy,' now," he continued musingly. "As sober-minded
a woodchuck as ever burrowed a bank. From his earliest days he took life
seriously, and never seemed to think it worth his while to play as the
other wild youngsters do. Yet in spite of himself he was sometimes quite
amusing.
"He had the good fortune to be born in the back pasture of Anderson's
Farm. That was where the Boy lived, you know, and where no one was
allowed to shoot the crows. Being a place where no one did any more
killing than was absolutely necessary, it was rather lucky for any of the
Babes of the Wild to be born there--except weasels, of course."
"Why not for weasels?" demanded the Babe.
"Well, now, you might know that without my having to tell you," replied
Uncle Andy.
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