Papa did not say another word. But he could not help thinking that the hole looked as if the iron spoon had neatly scooped it out.
Next morning he found the hole dug there again, and Chuckie Wuckie was still busy in her corner by the fence. He did not speak of it, however. There were prints of small feet on the edge. He only smoothed down the earth and raked the bed. He did this for three mornings, then he led Chuckie Wuckie again to the canna-bed.
"Papa," she said earnestly, "I did not dig there. Truly, I didn't. The hole is there every morning. I found it today before you came out, but I did not dig it." There were tears in her brown eyes.
"I believe you, Chuckie Wuckie dear," said her father, earnestly.
That night the little girl stood at the gate, watching for her father to jump off the car. She could hardly wait for him to kiss her. She took his hand and led him to the canna-bed.

License information: nan
MPAA: G
Go to source: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/25359/25359-h/25359-h.htm#CANNABED