That night Mr. 'Possum decided that he couldn't stand it any longer. He was so thin that his skin hung on him like a bag, and he hardly had strength enough to curl his tail. So he made a plan to slip through the parlor down stairs, and out the door at the bottom of the tree to find a good supper just for himself. A little after dark, when he thought the others were asleep, he got up softly and dressed himself and took his shoes in his hand.
LOOKING FOOLISH AND HALF STARVED.
He was afraid to put them on, for fear he would wake up the Crow and the 'Coon going down stairs.
Well, he slipped down softly, and was just about half way to the door when—biff! he ran right against something in the dark——
"But I thought you said once 'possums could see in the dark?" interrupted the Little Lady, sitting up straight.
They can in just common dark, but this, you see, was hollow tree dark, which is the very darkest dark there is. So he couldn't see a wink, and down he came and down came the other thing, too, till pretty soon—biff! they struck something else, and down all three things came over and over, rattlety-clatter, to the bottom of the stairs, right on out of the door into the moonlight, and what do you suppose was there besides Mr. 'Possum?
"I know," said the Little Lady, eagerly. "The 'Coon and the Old Black Crow?"
Exactly. Both of them dressed and looking foolish and half starved, and each with his shoes in his hand. They had all slipped down softly to get something to eat, because they were so hungry, and, of course, when they looked at each other standing there they all knew very well that none of them had been sick, except Mr. 'Coon a little right at first.
After they had looked at each other for about a minute they all began to laugh, and they laughed and laughed till they cried, and rolled on the ground and kept on laughing to think how they all had fooled each other and been fooled themselves. Then they all hurried off on a big hunt for game, and didn't get back till sunrise.