So the Fox went on again, and the next house he came to belonged to a 'Coon who milked cows. And the Fox watched him milk, and pretty soon he said: "What pleasant work that is! Let me milk." So the 'Coon let the Fox milk, and the Cow put her foot in the milk-pail and upset it all over the Fox's nice new clothes. And the Fox was mad, and said: "This work is not in the least pleasant!" and he hurried away, though the 'Coon seemed to enjoy it more than ever.
And the next house the Fox came to belonged to a Cat who played the fiddle. And the Fox listened awhile and said: "What pleasant work that must be!" and he borrowed the Cat's fiddle. But when he started down the road playing, a Man ran around the corner and shot a loud gun at him, and that was not pleasant, either, though the Cat seemed to enjoy it more than ever.
So the Fox kept on travelling and doing things that he thought would be pleasant, but that did not turn out to be pleasant—not for him—until by-and-by he had travelled clear around the world and had come up on the other side, back to his own garden again. And his garden was just the same as he had left it, only the things had grown bigger, and there were some weeds.
And the Fox jumped over the fence and commenced to hoe the weeds, and pretty soon he said, "Why, this is pleasant!" Then he hoed some more, and said, "Why, what pleasant work this is!"
So he kept on hoeing and finding it pleasant until by-and-by the weeds were all gone, and the Rabbit and the Crow and the Cat and the 'Coon came and traded him honey and pies and milk and music for vegetables, because he had the best garden in the world. And he has yet!
When Mr. Robin got through and sat down, Mr. Squirrel spoke up and said it was a good story because it had a moral lesson in it and taught folks to like the things they knew best how to do, and Mr. 'Possum said yes, that might be so, but that the story couldn't be true, because none of those animals would have enjoyed seeing that Fox leave them, but would have persuaded him to stay and help them, and would have taught him to do most of the work.
Then Mr. Robin spoke up and said that Mr. 'Possum thought everybody was like himself, and that anyway Mr. 'Possum didn't need the lesson in that story, for he already liked to do the things he could do best, which were to eat and sleep and let other people do the work, though of course he had been very good about getting the wood, lately, which certainly was unusual.
Then Mr. 'Possum said he didn't see why Mr. Robin should speak in that cross way when he had only meant to be kind and show him the mistake in his story, so he could fix it right. And Mr. Rabbit said that as Mr. 'Possum seemed to know so much how stories and poems ought to be written, perhaps he'd show now what he could do in that line himself.
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.