"Good gracious!" he says, "that is an old story that all the Deep Woods People have known ever so long."
"But I don't know it," says the Little Lady, "and I'd like to know that before you tell anything else. Rock, and tell it."
So the Story Teller rocks slowly, and smokes, and almost forgets the Little Lady in remembering that far-away time, and presently he begins.
"Well, it was all so long ago that perhaps I can't remember it very well. Mr. 'Possum was a young man in those days—a nice spry young fellow; and he used to think it was a good deal of fun to let Mr. Dog—who wasn't friendly then, of course—try to catch him; and when Mr. Dog would get pretty close and come panting up behind him, Mr. 'Possum would scramble up a tree, and run out on to the longest limb and swing from it, head down, and laugh, and say:
"Come right up, Mr. Dog! Always at home to you, Mr. Dog! Don t stop to knock!"
And then Mr. Dog would race around under the tree and make a great to do, and sometimes Mr. 'Possum would swing back and forth, and pretty soon give a great big swing and let go, and Mr. Dog would think surely he had him then, and bark and run to the place where he thought he was going to drop. Only Mr. 'Possum didn't drop—not far; for he had his limb all picked out, and he would catch it with his tail as he went by, and it would bend and sway with him, and he would laugh, and call again:
"Don't go, Mr. Dog! Mr. Man can get up the cows alone to-night!"
And then Mr. Dog would remember that he was a good ways from home, and that if he wasn't there in time to help Mr. Man get up the cows there might be trouble; and he would set out lickety-split for home, with Mr. 'Possum calling to him as he ran.
