“O, git up, boys, git up! Sompen’s in de hen-house, killin’ all de fowls.”
They jumped up and huddled on their clothes as fast as they could, then ran after Melissa, who held the light while they armed themselves with sticks.
There was a great stir, sure enough, in the hen-house,—fowls were cackling and screaming with fright, and a curious snapping sound came from one corner. When the light fell here they saw a rough, hairy little animal, with small bright eyes like a pig, and a long smooth tail. But, worst of all, one of the beautiful white Leghorns lay before it, all mangled and bleeding. The horrid creature was tearing its soft body, and would hardly stop eating when the children attacked him.
At last Melissa caught up a stick, and killed the little beast with a quick blow. She held it up in triumph by its long tail. It looked very much like a little pig, and had five fingers, like toes, on each foot.
“’Tis a ’possum,” said Melissa, “and very good to eat. I’s right glad I kill it, cos now ’tis mine.”
“You are welcome to it,” said Ned, half crying. “What shall we do now our pretty Leghorn rooster is dead? We can’t go to the circus.”
Next morning they told their tale at the breakfast-table.
“Never mind,” said their father; “I think you may go, after all, as I owe you something for killing the opossum. He would have destroyed the rest of the fowls.”