Tiny’s last ramble through the copse near Beaver Creek was one that
he never forgot. He was beginning to realize how much more pleasing
are the works of Nature when one really takes an interest in them. He
had learned to study even the snail in his shell house and the Venus’
fly-trap that catches insects.
“Aren’t the skies blue, and the trees and grasses green, and the music
of the birds sweet, and the busy hum of the insects inspiring?” he
asked himself again and again.
Once he stopped to admire the graceful foliage of the alder tree.
“That tree has some secrets hidden away that I mean to find out,” said
he, as he scurried up its smooth trunk. He gazed through the branches.
At last he espied a nest. It was built of coarse sticks.
“What an odd place for a jay bird’s home!” he exclaimed. “I never could
understand why the jay does not build a comfortable nest like that of
the robin. Perhaps he fears he might spoil his little ones by making
them too comfortable.”
Next he saw a queer object that held his attention for a long time. A
caterpillar was hanging from a leaf. Tiny thought that it was about
to fall, but the little worm held fast with all its might. It was
attaching a fine thread to the point of a leaf, but it worked harder
than the man who fells a tree.
“Do not molest that caterpillar,” said a voice from a limb overhead.
Tiny looked up and saw a peculiar animal with a long, pointed face
and sharp teeth, hanging head downward from a limb overhead. With a
startled cry, the squirrel hid in a thick branch.
“You need not fear me, for I do not eat squirrels,” said the odd
creature. “I am looking for birds. I should think you would be ashamed
to attack a poor little caterpillar.”
“Never in my life have I molested a caterpillar,” declared Tiny. “I
should think you would be ashamed to attack birds.”
“Well, everything depends upon the point of view,” replied the larger
animal. “I am not responsible if my views do not agree with your own,
for I see things upside down.”
[Illustration: “WHY DO YOU HANG BY YOUR TAIL?” TINY ASKED.]
“Why do you hang by your tail?” asked Tiny. From his hiding place he
peeped at the curious animal.
“Because I am an opossum, and I am wise enough to know that tails were
made to hang by. I couldn’t hang by my neck, could I?”
“I suppose not,” replied Tiny, with a laugh. “Reynard, Snowball, and
Rover have strong tails. I will tell them that they should cultivate
the use of them, as the opossum does.”
“I’ll be glad to teach them how,” said the opossum, not in the least
offended at the squirrel’s amusement. Tiny drew closer to get a better
view of his new acquaintance. He could look into his eyes.
“Reynard, Snowball, or Rover is going with me to-morrow. I should like
you to teach some of your amusing tricks to the one who comes.”
The opossum laughed so hard that Tiny feared he would lose his hold and
fall upon him.
“Neither Reynard, Rover, nor Snowball is likely to be benefited by
anything that I may teach him,” said the opossum, evidently much
pleased by Tiny’s suggestion. “Neither the birds nor the animals admire
me.”
“I do not dislike you,” said Tiny, truthfully.
“I am not so dull as one might think. I can sit up and I can hang by my
tail.”
“I can sit up, but I cannot hang by my tail,” said Tiny. “Some
squirrels can fly, but I am sure I can beat any flying squirrel in
a race. A red, a gray, and a black squirrel live close together at
Squirreltown. The mayor sends them with messages to other neighboring
towns. They are as swift as lightning.”
“Perhaps you wonder why I am looking so closely at that caterpillar,”
said the opossum, without stopping to argue concerning the fleetness of
squirrels. “All morning long I have watched with anxious eyes.”
“Perhaps you want to see what he is trying to do,” suggested Tiny.
“The caterpillar does not interest me at all,” said the opossum
rather brusquely. “I am waiting for a bird to come along to catch the
caterpillar. Before the bird catches the worm, I shall catch the bird--”
“And perhaps some hunter will catch you before you can catch the bird,”
interrupted Tiny.
“You are right,” said the opossum. “Every animal always seems to be
ready to catch another one. I like pretty birds as you like plump
acorns. A yellow, brown, and blue bird is a very attractive creature.
An ugly sparrow is not half so pleasing to me as a golden oriole.”
“I am sorry that you like to destroy birds,” said Tiny, who had
learned to love the little feathered songsters of the forest. “You are
cowardly. You attack birds. They are smaller than you.”
“I am cowardly but cautious,” returned the opossum. “I should be
foolish to try to capture an eagle. I have caught six little birds this
morning. The first, second, and third birds were sparrows. The fourth,
the fifth, and the sixth birds were robins.”
“The poor things surely did not suffer long. Your mouth is so large and
your teeth are so sharp,” said the red squirrel.
“Where do you live?” inquired the opossum, still gazing at the
caterpillar.
“I came from Beaver Creek,” answered Tiny. “I am out to-day to study
Nature.”
“Then you needn’t spend any more of your time here. There are other
things to see,” snapped the opossum. “Your incessant chatter is keeping
the birds away.”
“Where do you live?” asked Tiny, wishing to save as many birds as
possible.
“Close by,” replied the opossum indifferently. “I live in a dead tree.”
“What has become of the caterpillar?”
“It is still working away. It is a remarkable toiler. Now it has
succeeded in bending back the point of the leaf and has fastened it
down with bits of thread.”
“It has curled the leaf until it looks like a little tube with a very
round hole at each end,” said Tiny, much interested.
“Caterpillars make houses of leaves,” explained the opossum.
“How very odd!” exclaimed the squirrel.
“That depends upon the point of view,” repeated the opossum. “Insects
breathe through holes along their sides. You have lungs. Through these
lungs you breathe. Both of these methods of breathing might seem very
odd to the fish, who breathes through his gills.”
“How can the caterpillar turn around in such a small house?” asked Tiny.
“It doesn’t wish to turn around,” said the opossum. “The caterpillar
does not wiggle so much as the squirrel. It knows that big houses are
seldom half as cozy as smaller ones. As soon as it gets settled down to
housekeeping, it begins to eat its little green house.”
“How funny!” chuckled Tiny.
“Before very long it eats itself out of house and home,” said the
opossum.
“What would you do if a hunter were to steal up and club you?” asked
Tiny, more interested in the quadruped than in the worm.
“If a hunter should attack me, I would drop down and play that I was
dead,” was the answer.
“Once Snowball pretended to be asleep when Billy Beaver called him,”
said Tiny. “Billy said that Snowball was ‘playing ’possum.’ Now I know
what he meant.”
“I suppose that the opossum is not the only animal that tries to
deceive,” said the opossum, with a yawn.
“I see that you are sleepy,” said the squirrel. “I must go to my
home. I wonder why animals are so impolite as to yawn when they are
entertaining company.”
“Perhaps it would be better for you to say goodby before your
entertainers tire of you,” retorted the opossum.
This advice was a golden gift to Tiny. He never forgot it. With a
courteous farewell, he hastened down the trunk of the tree. When he
reached the ground, he stopped a moment to gaze overhead. The opossum
was asleep among the branches.
“He had better be sleeping than killing birds,” said Tiny, gratefully.
“I shall visit the opossum often and keep him out of mischief. This
afternoon has been well spent. I have stood between the birds and their
enemy.”
[Illustration]