Then a sudden loud thump—thump—thump of a woodpecker hammering on the bark of the tree sent them tumbling back to the nursery in a hurry.
After this the whole family climbed out every day to play about on the mother’s back. The biggest baby liked to curl his small tail about her large one, and then swing off head downward.
Sometimes he pushed the others down just for the fun of seeing them scramble up again, hand over hand, clutching the long fur.
Of course he was the first one to poke his head out every day. Once he woke from a nap in the pocket and started to climb outside.
But he stopped halfway, hanging to the edge with both fore feet. It was nearly evening, and the mother opossum was clambering down the tree-trunk to go hunting for her supper.
The baby held on tightly while she trotted away through the woods. Now and then a leaf rustled or a stick cracked under her feet. Sleepy birds were twittering in their nests.
The mother pricked her ears and listened, for she ate eggs and young birds whenever she could find them. She had not tasted an egg this spring, because she could not climb very nimbly with her pocket full of babies.
Soon she came to a swamp, and splash, splash, splash! the mud went flying. It spattered the baby’s face and made him cough.
