are transferred as soon as they are born, and were 

 it not for this strange half-way house along the 

 journey of their development they would perish. 



At birth a possum is little more than formed— 

 the least mature babe among all of our mam- 

 mals. It is only half an inch long, blind, deaf, 

 naked, and so weak and helpless as to be unable 

 to open its mouth or even cry. Such babies are 

 rare. The smallest young mice you ever saw 

 are as large as possums at their birth. They 

 weigh only about four grains, the largest of 

 them, and are so very tiny that the mother 

 has to fasten each to a teat and force the milk 

 down each wee throat— for they cannot even 

 swallow. 



They live in this cradle for about five weeks, 

 by which time they can creep out and climb over 

 their mother. They are then about the size of 

 full-grown mice, and the dearest of wood babies. 

 They have sharp pink noses, snapping black eyes, 

 gray fur, and the longest, barest tails. I think 

 that the most interesting picture I ever saw in 

 the woods was an old mother possum with eleven 

 little ones clinging to her. She was standing off 

 a dog as I came up, and every one of the eleven 

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