Ordinarily, if one wanted a possum, about all 

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

 in the holes until he felt something soft that 

 hissed, then reach in and pull the possum out. 



This fall they had all been pulled out. One 

 day five came forth from a single stump, which 

 seemed to exhaust the hillside's crop for that 

 year, 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, gone up the 

 hill to the crest, and halted, beating about, 

 fooled. What was if? At first I took it to be 

 a coon ; for there is no other creature in oUr 

 woods so thoughtful of his steps. One whose 

 range is infested with dogs develops astonishing 

 care and cunning. 



An old coon in such a country will never go 

 straight home, nor take a beaten path. Out on 

 the boundaries of his range he trots along with- 

 out minding how he steps. The dogs may have 

 fun with his trail here. He intends only that they 

 shall not follow him clear home, that they shall 

 not find his home-tree, nor even the vicinity of it. 



So, as he enters his own neighborhood swamp 

 [210] 



