CHAPTER XIV.
“Ya-Ha!” said the raccoon, yawning and stretching himself. “Ya-a-hoo! Hm-a-yeaow! oh, dear me! what a pity!”
“What, for instance, is the matter?” demanded the squirrel, dropping a hickory-nut down on the raccoon’s nose. “I knew a raccoon once who yawned till his head broke in two, and the top rolled off.”
“Hm!” said the raccoon. “Not much loss if it was like some people’s heads.
“I was sighing,” he continued, “you very stupid Cracker! to think that summer is gone, and that winter will be here before we can say ‘Beechnuts.’”
“Ah!” said the squirrel, looking grave. “That, indeed! To be sure; yes.”
“The leaves are falling fast,” continued the raccoon meditatively; “the birds are all gone, except Pigeon Pretty and Miss Mary, and they are going in a day or two. Very soon, my Cracker, we shall have to roll ourselves up and go to sleep for the winter. No more gingerbread and jam, my boy. No more pleasant afternoons at the cottage; no more stories. Nothing but a hollow tree and four months’ sleep. Ah, dear me!” and Coon sighed again, and shook his head despondingly.
“By the way,” said Cracker, “Toto tells me that he and his people don’t sleep in winter any more than in summer. Queer, isn’t it? I suppose it has something to do with their having only two legs.”
“Something to do with their having two heads!” growled the raccoon. “They don’t sleep with their legs, do they, stupid?”