The woodchuck spilled himself from under me, 

 slid short about, and tumbled off for home by 

 way of the dewberry-patch. 



He had made a good start before I was righted 

 and again in motion. Now it was steep, very 

 steep, uphill— which did not seem to matter 

 much to the woodchuck, but made a great differ- 

 ence to me. Then, too, I had counted on a 

 simple, straightaway dash, and had not saved 

 myself for this lap and climbing home-stretch. 



Still I was gaining,— more slowly this time,— 

 with chances yet good of overtaking him short 

 of the hole, when, in the thick of the dewberry- 

 vines, I tripped, lunged forward three or four 

 stumbling strides, and saw the woodchuck turn 

 sharp to the right in a bee-line for his burrow. 



I wheeled, jumped, cut after him, caught 

 him on the toe of my boot, and lifting him, 

 plopped him smoothly, softly into his hole. 



It was gently done. And so beautifully ! The 

 whole feat had something of the poetic accuracy 

 of an astronomical calculation. And the per- 

 fectly lovely dive I helped him make home ! 



I sat down upon his mound of earth to get 

 myself together and to enjoy it all. What a 

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