Tubby had no trouble at all in getting the kernel out and eating it. It belonged to a squirrel, who was watching Tubby so intently that he let his nut fall without meaning to.
Whirr! The woodpecker was back again, and with another worm, even fatter and squirmier than the first, dangling from his bill.
“Open your mouth!” he called cheerfully.
“I’ve had plenty!” Tubby cried. “Indeed I have! Please don’t trouble any more!”
“Nonsense!” said the woodpecker. “Young people must eat. I don’t know where you come from, but we’ll see to it that you don’t starve. The children send this with their love!”
And he dropped the worm plop into her lap.
Luckily he didn’t wait to see what became of it.
“I hate breakfast!” thought Tubby. For one worm after another, every few minutes, came tumbling down on her head. It kept her busy burying them all, and even then their tails would come wriggling up again, in a way that was most unpleasant. But presently, to her relief, the supply of worms gave out, or else the woodpecker thought she had had enough, for he ceased to appear, and Tubby was just shovelling the earth over the last and biggest worm of all when a voice overhead said:
“What are you doing down there?”
Tubby looked up. She was getting a crick in her neck
