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Just then the Red Cow spoke up. She didn’t understand Doctor Muskrat, but she caught Tommy’s name. And although she didn’t like Tommy herself, even a stupid cow knows enough to be honest. “I told you I saw that Man,” she said to Nibble. “Well, it surely wasn’t Tommy!”

“It wasn’t, eh?” snapped Doctor Muskrat. “We’ll just see about that.” He dove again. He came up looking very puzzled. “Tommy’s jaws are still biting the mud, just where he threw them.” he reported. “We’ll watch what he does when he finds these.”

It was Saturday, so as soon as Tommy had finished his chores up at the barn, he whistled to his old dog, Watch, and came tramping down the fields with his tall rubber boots. He had a cap full of meal and an ear of corn in his pocket. Yes! And he had a nice lump of fat for Chewee the Chickadee and a string to tie it to a branch with.

But Nibble didn’t come running to meet him. He was crouching back in the reeds with Doctor Muskrat. And the Red Cow had lumbered off to her own hiding-place in the thicket that Nibble had showed her.