Wilderness Babies

by Julia Augusta Schwartz

She was a good and patient mother. Of course, as long as they were small enough to stay in her pocket she carried them everywhere with her. Even when they grew as large as rats they rode on her back through the woods. These twelve fat babies were so heavy that sometimes she staggered and stumbled under the load.

One night, when all the babies were trotting along on their own feet, they saw two gleaming red eyes in the dark thicket before them. Something round and furry snarled and sprang at them. They all ran under their mother as quick as a wink. She ruffled her long grayish hair above them. When the animal jumped at her she growled and hissed and scratched and bit furiously, till he ran limping away into the shadowy wilderness.

On another evening a big dog came galloping up before they could scramble into a tree. His red tongue was hanging out of his mouth between his white teeth. As soon as he caught sight of the opossums he made a dash to catch them. Instantly they all fell down and rolled over, just as if they were dead.

There they lay, with their eyes shut, their paws limber, their tails limp. They seemed to stop breathing. The dog smelled them and pushed them with his cold nose. But they kept perfectly still and did not move even an eyelash. They were pretending to be dead. It was the one trick that they all knew without being taught.

The minute the dog walked away up they all jumped and scampered into a tree as fast as they could scurry. When the dog turned his head and saw them he ran back and leaped up to reach them. But all the opossums were safe enough now. While he was jumping and barking below they clung fast in the tree with their hand-like feet. They wound their tails about the branches above to hold more securely.

The little opossums learned to climb all sorts of trees, rough or smooth. It was easier to climb the rough trees because they could dig their nails farther into the bark. The biggest baby could walk along the springiest limb, even if it kept teetering up and down in the wind. When he felt like it he swung by his tail for the longest time without getting dizzy.

All summer long the twelve little opossums stayed with their mother. During the day they slept cuddled in the hollow tree. The old father opossum never came home, for the mother had driven him away before the babies were born. She wanted all the room in the nest for them. She could take care of them better than he could, because she was bigger and knew how to fight her enemies more fiercely. Every night, after sunset, the mother and her twelve children set off on their hunting. Down through the woods to the marsh they trotted. There some waded into the mud to catch frogs, while others chased mud-turtles over the shore. Some hunted for berries and others nosed for acorns under the oaks.

It was beautiful there in the woods at night. When the stars twinkled overhead and the soft wind rustled in the tree-tops the little ones frisked and frolicked. They hid under the shadowy bushes or jumped hither and thither to snap at the fluttering moths. But on stormy evenings they plodded on in the rain, their wet fur drooping. With their noses close to the ground they hunted till they found a few mouthfuls to eat. Then back to the cosy hollow for a longer nap, after licking their pink hands clean and washing their white faces, just as kittens do.

One night, in autumn, the old mother opossum felt the nip of frost in the air. Then she knew that the persimmons were ready to be eaten. Away through the woods she hurried, with the young ones trotting after her. Past the marsh and over the blackberry hills she led the way to a thicket of trees tangled with wild grapevines. There above on the branches the round little persimmons were shining yellow in the moonlight.

Up the trees eleven of the babies scrambled hungrily, and, hanging by their tails, stuffed the fruit into their wide mouths. Ah! but wasn’t it delicious! Better than anything they had ever tasted before in all their short lives! Then the biggest baby, who had stopped to gobble ripe grapes, heard them munching so greedily. One look sent him clambering after the others. He was sorry enough that he had wasted any time eating wild grapes.