For days and days the baby opossums lay crowded close together in their
mother’s furry pocket. They slept and drank milk, and grew and grew
till their eyes began to open.
It was dark all around them, but above their heads a gray line showed
where light was stealing in over the edge of the pocket.
The biggest baby opossum looked up with his little bright eyes. He
wanted to see more. So he crawled up, clambering over the soft tiny
bodies of the eleven other babies.
Some of them wriggled and squirmed under his little bare feet. After
slipping back once or twice he reached the edge and poked his pointed
white snout outside.
He could not see anything because he was under his mother, and her long
fur hung down over him. She was lying on a nest of grasses in a hollow
tree.
That was where she stayed all day long while the sun was shining. Every
night at dusk she climbed down the rough trunk and went to hunt for
something to eat.
When she felt the tiny claws of her baby clutching her fur she looked
down between her fore paws at the little mouse-like fellow.
Then with her smooth pink hands she gently pushed him back into the
pocket and closed the opening. He was not big enough yet to come out of
the warm dark nursery.
So for a week longer he cuddled down beside the others, while they all
slept and drank more milk and grew stronger every hour.
The biggest baby was so restless that he scrambled around and crowded
the others. Once he caught hold of a tiny tail between the thumbs and
fingers of his hind feet, and pulled till the little one squeaked. His
fore feet were like tiny hands without any thumbs.
At last, one day, he saw the edge of the pocket open a crack. He was
so glad that he climbed up as fast as he could scramble, and pushed
outside. He held on to his mother’s fur with all four feet.
When she reached down to smell him the bristles on her lips tickled his
nose. Then he climbed around upon her back and twisted his tail about
hers to hold him steady.
He looked like a mouse with his long tail, his black ears, his bright
eyes twinkling in his little white face, and his pointed nose.
In a few minutes another and another baby followed the big brother and
clung there on the mother’s furry back. It must have seemed a noisy
place to them, for in the pocket they had heard only the soft rustling
and scratching of the mother’s feet on the nest.
Now they could hear a chirping, and a squeaking, and a rattling of
branches. They crowded close together in fright at the scream of a blue
jay, as it chased a chattering red squirrel through the tree-top.
Then a sudden loud thump—thump—thump of a woodpecker hammering on the
bark of the tree sent them tumbling back to the nursery in a hurry.
After this the whole family climbed out every day to play about on the
mother’s back. The biggest baby liked to curl his small tail about her
large one, and then swing off head downward.
Sometimes he pushed the others down just for the fun of seeing them
scramble up again, hand over hand, clutching the long fur.
Of course he was the first one to poke his head out every day. Once he
woke from a nap in the pocket and started to climb outside.
But he stopped halfway, hanging to the edge with both fore feet. It
was nearly evening, and the mother opossum was clambering down the
tree-trunk to go hunting for her supper.
The baby held on tightly while she trotted away through the woods. Now
and then a leaf rustled or a stick cracked under her feet. Sleepy birds
were twittering in their nests.
The mother pricked her ears and listened, for she ate eggs and young
birds whenever she could find them. She had not tasted an egg this
spring, because she could not climb very nimbly with her pocket full
of babies.
Soon she came to a swamp, and splash, splash, splash! the mud went
flying. It spattered the baby’s face and made him cough.
[Illustration]
Then he heard the croakings of dozens of frogs, and it frightened him
so that he slid back into the nursery with his brothers.
The mother was trying to catch a frog to eat. Now she jumped this way,
and now she jumped that way. Such a jounce as the babies felt when she
gave a spring for a big green fellow sitting on a log.
She caught him, too, but the jounce almost knocked the breath out of
the twelve soft bodies in her pocket.
Every day the babies stayed outside the nursery for a longer time,
though they were always ready to hurry back at the mother’s first
warning grunt.
They kept growing bigger, too, till one night they could not all crowd
into the pocket. Then they cuddled together on her back, with their
tails twisted around hers.
In this way they rode through the woods when she went hunting. They
watched with their bright eyes while she turned over rotting logs with
her snout to catch the grubs underneath.
Sometimes she rooted in the ground for sprouting acorns, or nipped off
mouthfuls of tender grass. Once she caught a young rabbit. Then how
excited the little opossums were! And how they all squeaked and hissed
together as they rode trotting home.
By this time they had cut their teeth,—fifty sharp little teeth in
each hungry mouth. Then the mother picked some sweet red berries, and
taught the hungry babies how to eat them. They learned to chew the
juicy roots that she dug in the field.
The babies were greedy little things. She was a good and patient
mother. Of course, as long as they were small enough to stay in her
pocket she carried them everywhere with her. Even when they grew as
large as rats they rode on her back through the woods. These twelve fat
babies were so heavy that sometimes she staggered and stumbled under
the load.
One night when all the babies were trotting along on their own feet
they saw gleaming red eyes in the dark bushes before them. Something
round and furry snarled and sprang at them.
They all ran under their mother as quick as a wink. She ruffled her
long grayish hair above them. When the animal jumped at her she
growled, and hissed, and scratched, and bit, till he ran limping away.
On another evening a big dog came galloping up before they could
scramble into a tree. His red tongue was hanging out of his mouth
between his white teeth. As soon as he caught sight of the opossums he
made a dash to catch them. Instantly they all fell down and rolled over
just as if they were dead.
There they lay, with their eyes shut, their paws limber, their tails
limp. They seemed to stop breathing. The dog smelled them and pushed
them with his cold nose.
But they kept perfectly still and did not move even an eyelash. They
were pretending to be dead. It was one trick that they all knew without
being taught.
The minute the dog walked away they all jumped up and scampered into a
tree. When the dog turned his head and saw them he ran back and leaped
up to reach them.
But all the opossums were safe enough now. While he was jumping and
barking below they clung fast in the tree with their hand-like feet.
They wound their tails about the branches above to hold more securely.
The little opossums learned to climb all sorts of trees, rough or
smooth. It was easier to climb the rough trees because they could dig
their nails farther into the bark.
[Illustration]
The biggest baby could walk along the springiest limb, even if it kept
teetering up and down in the wind. When he felt like it he swung by his
tail the longest time without getting dizzy.
All summer long the twelve little opossums stayed with their mother.
During the day they slept cuddled in the hollow tree. Every night,
after sunset, the mother and her twelve children set off on their
hunting.
Down through the marsh they trotted. Some waded into the mud to catch
frogs, while others chased mud turtles over the shore. Some hunted for
berries and others nosed for acorns under the oaks.
It was beautiful there in the woods at night. When the stars twinkled
overhead and the soft wind rustled in the tree-tops the little ones
frisked and frolicked.
They hid under the shadowy bushes or jumped hither and thither to snap
at the fluttering moths.
But on stormy evenings they plodded on in the rain, their wet fur
drooping. With their noses close to the ground they hunted till they
found a few mouthfuls to eat. Then they went back to the cosy hollow
for a longer nap, after licking their pink hands and washing their
faces, just as kittens do.
One night, in autumn, the old mother opossum felt the nip of frost in
the air. Then she knew that the persimmons were ready to be eaten.
Away through the woods she hurried, with the young ones trotting after
her.
She led the way past the marsh and over the hill to a thicket of
trees tangled with wild grapevines. There on the branches the round
persimmons were shining yellow in the moonlight.
Up the trees eleven of the babies scrambled hungrily, and, hanging by
their tails, stuffed the fruit into their wide mouths. Ah! But wasn’t
it delicious! Better than anything they had ever tasted before in all
their short lives.
Then the biggest baby, who had stopped to gobble ripe grapes, heard
them munching so greedily. One look sent him hurrying after the others.
He was sorry enough that he had wasted any time eating wild grapes.
Night after night, till the little persimmons were gone, the opossums
hurried away to the thicket, and ate and ate till they could eat no
longer. They grew so fat that they puffed and panted when trotting home
again in the gray light of the frosty dawn.
Soon the ground was frozen hard over the juicy roots. All the fruit
left in the woods hung wrinkled and frost-bitten. The worms and toads
crawled into their holes for the winter. The beetles disappeared, and
the spiders curled up in their hiding places to sleep through the cold
weather. Most of the birds flew away south.
[Illustration]
One by one each little opossum wandered off by himself, and made a nest
in a cosy hole or a hollow stump. There he dozed all day and often
slept through the night without stirring out.
Now and then one of them caught a mouse or dug up a frozen root to
nibble. Sometimes they tore rotten logs apart to get at the grubs.
In the beginning of the winter the little opossums were so fat that
they could live three or four weeks without eating or drinking. When
the cold winds blew, and the snow fell, they cuddled down in their warm
nests and slept the time away. But many a night they woke up hungry.
And every day their round furry bodies were a little thinner, till at
last, spring melted the snow and ice everywhere.
There was plenty to eat by that time, with all the green things
growing. There were buds to nibble and beetles to catch. There were
frogs croaking in the marsh, and berries were ripening in the field.
The twelve little opossums were grown up now, and knew how to take care
of themselves. Their mother had another family of babies in her furry
pocket.
Sometimes she met her other children roaming beside the marsh to catch
frogs. One evening they saw a little pointed nose, and two twinkling
bright eyes, peeping over the edge of her pocket.
—_Julia A. Schwartz._
* * * * *
Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like water lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!
—_Emily Dickinson._