oping to catch this one before he could get to his hole.
But the woodchuck, seeing the dog come laboring up the hill, sprang to
the mouth of his den, and, when his pursuer was only a few rods off,
whistled tauntingly and went in. This occurred several times, the old
dog marching up the hill, and then marching down again, having had his
labor for his pains.

[Illustration: WOODCHUCK]

I suspect that he revolved the subject in his mind while revolving the
great wheel of the churning-machine, and that some turn or other brought
him a happy thought, for next time he showed himself a strategist.
Instead of giving chase to the woodchuck, when first discovered, he
crouched down to the ground, and, resting his head on his paws, watched
him. The woodchuck kept working away from his hole, lured by the tender
clover, but, not unmindful of his safety, lifted himself up on his
haunches every few moments and surveyed the approaches. Presently, after
the woodchuck had let himself down from one of these attitudes of
observation and resumed his feeding, Cuff started swiftly but stealthily
up the hill, precisely in the attitude of a cat when she is stalking a
bird. When the woodchuck rose up again, Cuff was perfectly motionless
and half hid by the grass. When he again resumed his clover, Cuff sped
up the hill as before, this time crossing a fence, but in a low place,
and so nimbly that he was not discovered. Again the woodchuck was on the
outlook, again Cuff was motionless and hugging the ground. As the dog
neared his victim he was partially hidden by a swell in the earth, but
still the woodchuck from his outlook reported "All right," when Cuff,
having not twice as far to run as the chuck, threw all stealthiness
aside and rushed directly for the hole. At that moment the woodchuck
discovered his danger, and, seeing that it was a race for life, leaped
as I never saw marmot leap before. But he was two seconds too late, his
retreat was cut off, and the powerful jaws of the old dog closed upon
him.

The next season Cuff tried the same tactics again with like success, but
when the third woodchuck had taken up his abode at the fatal hole, the
old churner's wits and strength had begun to fail him, and he was
baffled in each attempt to capture the animal.

The woodchuck usually burrows on a sidehill. This enables him to guard
against being drowned out, by making the termination of the hole higher
than the entrance. He digs in slantingly for a