ON THE 'POSSUM'S TRAIL 89 



down to the old stump in the brier-patch where he 

 was born, and left him to shift for himself. 



Being thrown into a brier-patch, you remember, 

 was exactly what tickled Br'er Babbit half to 

 death ; and any one would have supposed that be- 

 ing put gently down in the middle of his home 

 brier-patch would have tickled a little 'possum 

 even more. 



No, not this 'possum. Not Pinky. I went 

 home and forgot him. But the next morning, 

 when breakfast was preparing, whom should we 

 see but Pinky, curled up in the feather cushion of 

 the kitchen settee, sound asleep! 



I could hardly believe my eyes. 



He had found his way back during the night; 

 had climbed in through the trough of the pump- 



pinky 



