"'Don't try any more—the more I eat, the more I want—good-by.'"
Mr. Crow wiped his eyes again, while Mr. Bear grumbled to himself something about a nice state of affairs; but pretty soon he seemed to listen, for Mr. 'Possum was smacking his lips, thinking of those chicken pies Mr. Crow had described, and Mr. Bear has very quick ears.
"Mr. Crow," he said, "do you think Mr. 'Possum is really as dead as he might be?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Bear—at least twice as dead, from the looks of him" (for Mr. 'Possum had suddenly fainted again). "We're just waiting for the ground to thaw to have the funeral."
"Well, Mr. Crow, I think I'll just come up and take a look at the remains, and visit you a little, and maybe say a word to poor Mr. 'Coon."
When Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum heard that they climbed out of their beds and got under them, for they didn't know what might happen next.
And they heard Mr. Crow say: "I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Bear, but the down-stairs door is locked, and bolted, and barred, and propped, and all our things piled against it, for winter; and I can't get it open until Mr. 'Coon gets strong enough to help me."
"Oh, never mind that," said A. Savage Bear, "I can make a run or two against it, and it will come down all right. I weigh seven hundred pounds."
