UNDER THE APPLE-TREES 



was being shoved up from below and pressed into 

 the opening; the movement of the soil could be 

 seen. It flashed upon me at once that here was 

 the key to the secret that had so puzzled me — he 

 would obliterate that ugly and irregular work-hole 

 and the littered dooryard, bury them beneath his 

 movmd of earth, and, working from within, would 

 make a new and neater outlet somewhere through 

 the turf near by. He was probably carrying out that 

 scheme at that moment, and was disposing of the 

 loose earth in the way I had observed. The next 

 day the moimd of earth had been extended over the 

 place where the hole had been, and the chipmimk 

 was still active beneath it, pushing up fresh earth 

 like a ground-mole. At intervals of a few moments, 

 the fresh soil would slowly heave or boil up, as it 

 does when a hidden crayfish or mole is at work. 

 Twice while I looked the head of the digger came 

 through the thin screen of earth, as if by accident; 

 he winked and blinked as the dirt slid off his head 

 and over his eyes, then ducked beneath it and pro- 

 ceeded with his work. I began to look in the turf 

 around me for the new entrance which I knew would 

 soon be, if it were not already, made. I did not that 

 day find it, but the next morning there it was, not 

 more than four inches from the edge of the dump- 

 heap — a little round shadow under the grass- 

 blades and wild-strawberry leaves, about half the 

 size of the work-hole, with no stain of the soil about 

 34 



