"But we can soon tell. I'll look in the dirt around the stump
and see whose footprints are there. A fox makes different tracks from
a muskrat."
So Grandpa Whackum looked and he said:
"Why, this is queer. I can only see beaver tracks and rabbit tracks
near the stump. Only you and I were here and we didn't take anything."
"But where is my butter?" asked Uncle Wiggily.
Just then, off in the woods, near the beaver house, came the sound of
laughter and voices cailed:
"Oh, it's my turn now, Toodle."
"Yes, Noodle, and then it's mine. Oh, what fun we are having, aren't
we?"
"It's Toodle and Noodle--my two beaver grandsons," said Grandpa
Whackum. "I wonder if they could have taken your butter? Come; we'll
find out."
They went softly over behind a clump of bushes and there they saw
Toodle and Noodle sliding down the slanting log of a tree, that was
like a little hill, only there was no snow on it.
"Why, they're coasting!" cried Grandpa Whackum. "And how they can do
it without snow I don't see."
"But I see!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Those two little beaver boys have
taken my butter that I left outside of your house and with the butter
they have greased the slanting log until it is slippery as ice. That's
how they slide down--on Nurse Jane's butter."
"Oh, the little rascals!" cried Grandpa Whackum.
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