“You see, Granny,” said Toto, turning to his grandmother, “we take turns in telling stories, every afternoon. It is such fun! you’d like to hear a story, wouldn’t you, Granny?”
“Very much indeed!” replied the good woman. “Will you take a chair, Mr.—Mr. Coon?” she asked.
“Thank you, no,” replied the raccoon graciously. “My mother earth shall suffice me.” And sitting down, he curled up his tail in a very effective manner, and looked about him meditatively, as if in search of a subject for his story.
“My natural diffidence,” he said, “will render it a difficult task, but still—”
“Oh yes, we know!” said the squirrel. “Your natural diffidence is a fine thing. Go ahead, old fellow!”
At this moment Mr. Coon’s sharp eyes fell upon the poultry-yard, on the fence of which a fine Shanghai cock was sitting. His face lighted up, as if an idea had just struck him. “That is a very fine rooster, madam!” he said, addressing the grandmother,—“a remarkably fine bird. That bird, madam, reminds me strongly of the Golden-breasted Kootoo.”
“And what is the Golden-breasted Kootoo?” asked the grandmother.
The raccoon smiled, and looked slyly round upon his auditors, who had all assumed comfortable attitudes of listening, sure that the story was now coming.
“The story of the Golden-breasted Kootoo,” he said, “was told to me several years ago by a distinguished foreigner, a learned and highly accomplished magpie, who formerly resided in this vicinity, but who is now, unhappily, no longer in our midst.”
“That’s a good one, that is!” whispered the wood chuck to Toto. “He ate that magpie about a year ago; said he loved her so much he couldn’t help it. What a fellow he is!”