Chapter VII 



PORT has an extra relish 

 when it has a tang of ven- 

 geance underneath. Joe 

 had a private grudge against 

 the whole race of possums 

 — no wonder then that he 

 liked a possum hunt even 

 more than a bird-hunt. The sly gray-coats 

 had not only robbed him, but fooled him ever 

 and ever so long. It happened in this wise. 

 Joe and Patsy both had small hen-houses set 

 up in the orchard quite apart from their 

 mother's. Only the spring before a possum 

 had plundered them, sucking eggs without 

 number, and eating many young chicks. 

 But there was no way to catch him — traps 

 he stepped over or around, poisoned eggs 

 he disdained. The dogs told of his presence, 

 but somehow always lost his trail. So Joe 

 sat up to watch for him, gun in hand, and 

 waited so late he fell sound asleep. A great 



