" Going to roast this possum, are n't you?" 



Silence. 



"Am I going to have an invite. Uncle Jeth?" 



"Hush up, boy ! How we gwine yhear w'at 

 dat dog say?" 



"Calamity? Why, did n't you tell her to go 

 home?" 



The woods were still. A little screech-owl 

 off in the trees was the only creature that dis- 

 turbed the brittle silence. The owl was flitting 

 from perch to perch, coming nearer us. 



"W'at dat owl say ? " whispered Uncle Jethro, 

 starting. " t No possum ' ? l no possum ' ? ' no pos- 

 sum ' ? Come 'long home, boy," he commanded 

 aloud. "W'eu ol' Miss Owl say <No possum,' 

 C'lamity herself ain't gwine git none." And 

 sliding to the ground, he trudged off for home. 



We were back again in the corn-field with 

 an empty sack. The moon was riding high near 

 eleven o'clock. From behind a shock Calamity 

 joined us, falling in at the rear like one of our 

 shadows. Of course Uncle Jethro did not see 

 her. He was proud of the rheumatic old hound, 

 and a night like this nipped his pride as the 

 first frosts nip the lima-beans. 

 [17] 



