92 BEYOND THE PASTURE BARS 



we were fooled, the dog and I, until snow fell, 

 and the whole trick was written out in signs that 

 our stumbling wits could understand. 



Around the rim of the steep wooded hillsides 

 circling Lupton's Pond runs a rail fence, along 

 which grow a number of old chestnut-oak trees 

 with clusters of great stems from single spread- 

 ing stumps that are particularly gone to holes. 



Ordinarily, if I wanted a 'possum, about all I 

 had to do was to climb the hill, prod around in the 

 holes until I felt something soft that hissed, then 

 reach in and pull the 'possum out. 



This particular autumn the 'possums had all 

 been pulled out, it seemed. One day five came forth 

 from a single stump, which seemed to exhaust the 

 hillside's crop for the season, so that I quite 

 ceased looking into the stumps for more. 



Several times the dog had started a trail in 

 the woods at the head of the pond. He had gone 

 up the hill to the rim, and halted, beating about, 

 but was always fooled. What was it? At first I 

 took it to be a coon ; for there is no other creature 

 in our woods so thoughtful of his steps. And a 

 coon whose range is infested with dogs grows to 

 be astonishingly careful and cunning. 



This must be an old coon, said I. Now an old 



