off again with the command to talk possum next 

 time or be shot. 



She was soon talking again. This time it 

 7nust be possum-talk. There could be no mis- 

 take about that long, steady, placid howl. The 

 dog must be under a tree or beside a stump wait- 

 ing for us. As Uncle Jethro heard the cry he 

 chuckled, and a new moon broke through his 

 dusky countenance. 



"Yhear dat? Dat 's possum-talk. C'lamity 

 done meet up wid de ol' man dis time, shu'." 



And so she had, as far as we could see. She 

 was lying restfully on the bank of a little stream, 

 her head in the air^ singing that long, lonesome 

 strain which Uncle Jethro called her possum- 

 talk. It was a wonderfully faithful reproduction 

 of her master's camp-meeting singing. One of 

 his weird, wordless melodies seemed to have 

 passed into the old dog's soul. 



But what was she calling us for ? As we came 

 up we looked around for the tree, the stump, the 

 fallen log ; but there was not a splinter in sight. 

 Uncle Jethro was getting nervous. Calamity 

 rose, as we approached, and pushed her muzzle 

 into a muskrat's smooth, black hole. This was 

 [15] 



