"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.
So then they all flew around and put away things, and Mr. Crow got the chicken on while Mr. 'Coon sliced the bread and Mr. 'Possum cut the cake, which they had been saving for Sunday, and he picked out a pie too, and a nice book to read which Mr. Crow had found lying in Mr. Man's yard while the folks were at dinner. Then he packed the basket all neat and nice, and ate a little piece of the cake when Mr. 'Coon had stepped out to see how the chicken was coming along, and when the chicken was ready he cut it all up nicely, and he tasted of that a little, too, while Mr. Crow was getting on his best picnic things to go.
And pretty soon they all started out, and it was so bright and sunny that Mr. 'Possum began to sing a little, and Mr. 'Coon told him not to make a noise like that or they'd have company—Mr. Dog or Mr. Fox or somebody—when there was only just enough chicken for themselves, which made Mr. 'Possum stop right away. And before long they came to a very quiet place under some thick hemlock-trees behind a stone wall and close to a brook of clear water.
AND HE TASTED OF THAT A LITTLE, TOO
That was the place Mr. 'Coon had thought of, and they sat down there and spread out all the things on some moss, and everything looked so nice that Mr. 'Possum said they ought to come here every day and eat dinner as long as the hot weather lasted. Then they were all so hungry that they began on the chicken right away, and Mr. 'Possum said that maybe he might have picked out a tenderer one, but that he didn't think he could have found a bigger one, or one that would have lasted longer, and that, after all, size and lasting were what one needed for a picnic.