Mr. 'Possum said he hadn't written anything because it was too much trouble, but that he would tell them a story if they would like to hear it—something that had really happened, because he had been there, and was old enough to remember.
But before he began Mr. Robin said that as they had not cared much about his story he would like to recite a few lines he had thought of, which would perhaps explain how he felt, and all the animals said, "Of course, go right on," and Mr. Robin bowed and recited a little poem he had made, called
ONLY ME
By C. Robin
How came a little bird like me
A place in this fine group to win?
My mind is small—it has to be—
The little place I keep it in.
How came a little bird like me
To be here in the Hollow Tree?
When all the others know so much,
And are so strong and gifted too,
How can I dare to speak of such
As I can know, and think, and do?
How can a little bird like me
Belong here in the Hollow Tree?
MR. POSSUM SAID HE HADN'T MEANT ANYTHING AT ALL BY WHAT HE HAD SAID ABOUT THE STORY
Well, when Mr. Robin finished that, all the others spoke right up and said that Mr. Robin must never write anything so sad as that again. They said his story was just as good as it could be, and that Mr. Robin was one of the smartest ones there; and Mr. 'Possum burst into tears, and said that he hadn't meant anything at all by what he had said about the story, and that some time, when they were all alone, Mr. Robin must tell it to him again, and he would try to have sense enough to understand it.
Then he ran over to Mr. Robin, and was going to embrace him and weep on his shoulder, and would very likely have mashed him if Mr. Turtle hadn't dragged him back to his seat and told him that he had done damage enough to people's feelings without killing anybody, and the best thing he could do now would be to go on with a story of his own if he had any.