By this time the memory of the dog and of what Bobby Coon had said about hollow trees had almost dropped from his mind. He was concerned over nothing but filling his stomach and enjoying those frosty moonlight nights. He interfered with no one and no one interfered with him. One night he had gone down to the Laughing Brook, fishing. Without warning, there broke out on the still air the horrid sound of that yelping dog. Tommy listened for just a minute. This time it was _his_ trail that dog was following. There could be no doubt about it. Tommy turned and ran swiftly. But he was fat and heavy, and he could hear the dog gaining rapidly. Straight for his hollow tree fled Tommy, and even as he reached it the dog was almost at his heels. Up the tree scrambled Tommy and, from the safe vantage of a big limb which was the threshold of his home, he looked down. The dog was leaping up against the base of the tree excitedly and his voice had changed. He was barking. A feeling of relief swept over Tommy. The dog could not climb; he was safe. But presently there were new sounds in the Green Forest, the shouting of men. Lights twinkled and drew nearer. Staring down from the edge of his hole, Tommy saw eager, cruel faces looking up. With a terrible fear gripping his heart he crept down into his bed. Presently the tree shook with the jar of an ax. Blow followed blow. The tree vibrated to each blow and the vibrations passed through Tommy’s body so that it shook, but it shook still more with a nameless and terrible fear. At last there was a sharp cracking sound. Tommy felt himself falling through space. He remembered what Bobby Coon had told him, and he wondered if he would be lucky enough to escape as Bobby did. Then he shut his eyes tight, waiting for the crash when the tree should strike the ground. When he opened his eyes, he was--just Tommy sitting on the wishing-stone overlooking the Green Meadows. His face was wet with perspiration. Was it from the sun beating down upon him, or was it from the fear that had gripped him when that tree began to fall? A shudder ran over him at the memory. He looked over to the corn-field where he had found the tracks of Bobby Coon and the mischief he had wrought. What was he to do about it? Somehow strangely his sympathy was with Bobby. “He doesn’t know any better,” muttered Tommy. “He thinks that corn belongs to him as much as to anybody else, and there isn’t any reason why he shouldn’t think so. It isn’t fair to trap him or kill him for something he doesn’t know he shouldn’t do. If he just knew enough to eat what he wants and not waste so much, I guess there wouldn’t be any trouble. He’s just like a lot of folks who have so much they don’t know what to do with it, only they know better than to waste it, and he doesn’t. I know what I’ll do. I’ll take Bowser down there to-night and give him a scare. I’ll give him such a scare that he won’t dare come back until the corn is so hard he won’t want it. That’s what I’ll do!