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 
mound 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 mound of earth had been extended over the 
place where the hole had been, and the chipmunk 
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 he, 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 
