"Why, no!" the Story Teller says, looking surprised. "Is it time?"
"Yes, and I've got huckleberries and cream, and some hot biscuits."
"Good gracious! Let's see!"
So then the Story Teller looks, and, sure enough, there they are, and more things, too; and pretty soon the Little Lady and he go down to a very quiet place under some hemlock-trees by a big rock where there is a clear brook and a spring close by, and they sit down, and the Little Lady spreads the picnic all out—and there is ham too, and bread-and-butter, and doughnuts and they are so hungry that they eat everything, and both dip into one bowl when they get to huckleberries and cream.
Then the Little Lady says:
"Now tell me about the Hollow Tree People; they have picnics, too."
"Sure enough, they do. And I think I'll have to tell you about their very last picnic and what happened."
Well, once upon a time Mr. 'Possum said that he was getting tired of sitting down to a table every meal in a close room with the smell of cooking coming in, and if Mr. Crow would cook up a few things that would taste good cold he'd pack the basket (that is, Mr. 'Possum would) and Mr. 'Coon could carry it, and they'd go out somewhere and eat their dinner in a nice place under the trees.
Mr. 'Coon said he knew a pleasant place to go, and Mr. Crow said he'd cook one of Mr. Man's chickens, which Mr. 'Possum had brought home the night before, though it would take time, he said, because it was pretty old—Mr. 'Possum having picked it out in the dark in a hurry.