THE POMEROON TRAIL 73 



strokes. For several minutes one loop of the 

 snake became entangled about a sunken pile, 

 and now the scavengers boldly perched in the 

 shallow water and fairly ducked their heads at 

 each beakful. Next came a white ants' nest on 

 a lichened trunk, with a multitude of the owners 

 rushing frantically about, scores of them over- 

 running the confines of their small cosmos, to 

 the great profit and delectation of a school of 

 little fish which swam in the wake. 



Most pitiful of all was a tiny opossum, with 

 a single young one clinging tightly about her 

 neck, which approached as I was about to leave. 

 She was marooned on a hollow log which re- 

 volved in an arc while it drifted. As it turned, 

 the little mother climbed, creeping first upward, 

 then turning and clambering back, keeping thus 

 ever on the summit. The tail of the baby was 

 coiled about her mouth, and he was clinging with 

 all his strength. It was a brave fight and well 

 deserved success. No boat was in sight, so I 

 could not hesitate, but, pulling off my shoes, I 

 waded out as far as I could. At first I thought 

 I must miss it, for I could not go in to my neck 

 even for an opossum. But the wind helped ; one 

 or two heavy waves lapped conveniently against 



