Night after night, till the persimmons were gone, the opossums hurried away to the thicket, and ate and ate till they could eat no longer. They grew so fat that they puffed and panted when trotting home again in the gray light of frosty dawn.
As the weather grew colder the opossums roamed farther through the woods in search of food. Once in a while one of them found a pawpaw-tree. Then from far and near opossums gathered under the low wide-spreading branches to feast on the banana-shaped fruit. That was the last good dinner that the little fellows had for many weeks.
Soon the ground was frozen hard over the juicy roots. All the fruit left in the woods hung wrinkled and frost-bitten. The worms and toads crawled into their holes for the winter. The beetles disappeared, and the spiders curled up in their hiding-places to sleep through the cold weather. Most of the birds flew away south.
One by one each little opossum wandered off by himself, and made a nest in a cosy hole or a snug hollow stump. There he drowsed away the days, and often slept through the nights without stirring out. Now and then one of them caught a mouse or dug up a frozen root to nibble. Sometimes they tore rotten logs apart to get at the torpid grubs within. The biggest baby found a heap of nuts hidden away under a stone by a thrifty chipmunk.
In the beginning of the winter the little opossums were so fat that they could live three or four weeks without eating or drinking. When the cold winds blew, and the snow fell silently, they cuddled down in their warm nests and slept the time away. But many a night they woke up hungry. And every day their round furry bodies were a little thinner, till at last spring melted the snow and ice everywhere.
There was plenty to eat by that time, with all the green things growing. The little creatures of the woods and ponds were waking to new life. There were buds to nibble and beetles to catch. There was many a nest of birds’ eggs, too, and broods of tender young field-mice squeaking in the grass. There were frogs croaking in the marsh, and berries were ripening in the fields.
The twelve little opossums were grown up now, and knew how to take care of themselves. Their mother had another family of babies in her furry pocket. Sometimes she met her other children roaming beside the marsh to catch frogs. One evening they saw, just as plain as anything, a little pointed nose and two twinkling bright eyes peeping over the edge of her pocket.