PLAYING 'POSSUM.
"See what a splendid 'possum I've shot, Uncle Toby. I killed him all myself."
"Killed him all yo'se'f, eh? Now, let me tole you' suffin'. Jest yo' look sharp after him. A 'possum am a mighty skeery critter, shore's yo' bawn."
"Why, but he's dead, uncle, and how can he need any looking after?"
"Don't yo' be so shore 'bout dat ar' now, 'case dey's mighty onsartin, mighty onsartin. I mind now wat yore bressed uncle, the parson, used ter say on that subjec', ses he: 'Toby, ef yo' ebber wants to be a fust-rate Christian, yo' mus'n't let yer 'settin' sins fool ye, 'case dey's jes like 'possums. Yo' t'ink dem all dead and gone fur to pester ye no moah, when all ob a suddent heah dey all comes agin, jes' as pow'rful as ebber. Be shore yo' kills dem dead—plumb dead—ebbery time yo' sees de leastest bit ob one stick'n up anywhars.' Dat's what he used fur to remark, an' he war a mighty good man, chuck full ob de sperrit ob goodness."
Willie ran away and shut his treasure up in an empty cotton-shed, intending to skin it early in the morning, as it was now supper-time and he was exceedingly hungry. But on the morrow nothing was to be seen or heard of his prize. He hunted the place over and questioned all the servants closely. Nothing was to be heard or seen of the missing rogue, who was probably telling his mates of the forest of his narrow escape from being skinned alive!
Uncle Toby greeted Willie with a laugh, "I done tole yo' so. Yo' 's got to cut dere heads plumb off. Dat am de onlst way ob bein' sartin shore. I 'clare to gracious I'se seen dem hop outen de bery pot on de fire an' make off."
"O, Uncle Toby, that's an awful story! you know it is. But one thing I do know: I'll cut the throat of the next 'possum I get hold of."
"An' don't yo' fo'git what I done tole ye 'bout your 'settin' sins. Dey's jes like dat ar' 'possum. Dey wants killin' ober an' ober again 'fore dey really dies."
"I should think John Salters' love of drink needed killing again. Do you know, I stumbled over him in the woods yesterday, with a whisky-bottle lying by his side? It was too shameful!"
"Dat am true, Massa Willie. I don't reckon he tries so bery hard to kill dat ar' possum."
"But he told father that he had reformed, and wanted him to furnish him some work. Mother gave him a lot of old clothing and things to eat, and yet there he lay, drunk as could be."
"Wall, yo' see, he was jes' like yo' was yessaday. Yo' was sartain shore dat 'possum was dead, an' all de time he was a larfin' in his slebe an' t'inkin' how he'd make his legs fly when he'd see a good chance, an' shore 'nuff he did. He-he."
"You needn't laugh, uncle; 'twasn't any fun to lose such a big fat fellow."
"No moah it wasn't, but ef yo' larned de lesson wat de good Lord meant to teach yo', den yo' hasn't loss nuffin'. Jes' yo' mind 'bout dat ar."—Ruth Argyle in Well Spring.