a person that keeps his promises we shall not have a bit of
trouble."

"You can depend on me," Billy Woodchuck told Grandfather Mole. "While
you're working for me I'll spend all my time in the clover-patch.... And
now," he added, "I'd like to see a sample of your digging."

"Come right this way!" Grandfather Mole directed. And Billy Woodchuck
followed, and looked carefully at the small hole that Grandfather Mole
pointed to with an air of pride. "Here's one of my doorways," he
announced.

With his head on one side, Billy Woodchuck inspected it.

"It's well made," he said, "but of course it's entirely too small for my
house. If you work for me you'll have to dig bigger than that."

That speech did not please Grandfather Mole. "Small doorways are the
only kind to have," he declared. "I wouldn't make a bigger one for
anybody--not even for Farmer Green himself."

Billy Woodchuck soon saw that Grandfather Mole was a stubborn old
fellow. No matter what he said, he couldn't get Grandfather Mole to
change his opinion. And at last Billy Woodchuck gave up all hope of
having Grandfather Mole dig for him.

"A door like yours would be of no use to me," he said dolefully. "I
never could squeeze through it."

"My goodness!" Grandfather Mole cried. "How big are you, anyhow?" It
must be remembered that he couldn't see his caller.

"I'm big enough," said Billy Woodchuck, "to put you in my pocket,
almost."

Grandfather Mole turned pale at the mere thought of such a thing.

"I--I'd no idea I was talking to a monster," he stammered. "I don't
believe I want to dig for you, after all." And saying a hasty good
afternoon, he popped through his doorway and vanished at Billy
Woodchuck's feet.

Greatly disappointed, Billy Woodchuck turned homewards. "I'd have been
in a pretty fix if he had finished my house, and I had tried to move my
furniture into it," he muttered. "It's lucky I asked to see a sample of
Grandfather Mole's work," said Billy Woodchuck.

XXIV

FOLLOWING THE PLOUGH

A GOOD many of Grandfather Mole's neighbors sneered at him, and said he
was queer. Mr. Blackbird was one of these scoffers. Though he was a lazy
scamp, he always managed to look sleek and well fed. And he liked the
same fare that Grandfather Mole did.

"You're a goose to work so hard for your food," Mr. Blackbird jeered one
fine spring day as he sat on the garden fence and looked down at
Grandfather Mole. "You ought to change your habits. Jus