Way-Atcha, the Coon—Raccoon 
The floor was dotted with stones, the shelf was 
plastered with the jam of the many pots examined. 
The Coon was unrecognizable except for his bright 
eyes and face, but he came waddling, whining, 
slushing down from the shelf across the floor to 
climb up Mrs. Pigott’s dress, assured, he believed, 
of a cordial welcome. Alas! what a cruel disap- 
pointment he got! 
One day Mr. Pigott set a hen with thirteen eggs. 
The next day Way-atcha was missing. As they 
went about calling him by name they heard a faint 
reply from the hen-house, the gentle ‘whicker” 
that he usually gave in answer. On opening the 
door, there they saw Way-atcha sprawling on his 
back in the hen’s nest perfectly gorged, and the 
remains of the thirteen eggs told that he was re- 
sponsible for a piece of shocking destruction. Roy 
was the proper guardian of the hen-house. No 
tramp, no Fox, no Coon from the woods could enter 
that while he was on guard. But alas! for the con- 
flict of love and duty: in his perplexity the dog had 
unwittingly followed the plan of a certain great 
man who said, ‘In case of doubt, be friendly.” 
Farmer Pigott bore with Way-atcha for long 
because the children were so fond of the little 
rascal. But the climax was reached one day when 
the Coon, left alone in the house, discovered the 
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