They had looked at all the things, and Mr. Crow remarked that there seemed to be a good many which Mr. 'Possum had not mentioned, and which they could divide afterward. Then he picked up Mr. 'Possum's pipe and tried it to see if it would draw well, as he had noticed, he said, that Mr. 'Possum sometimes had trouble with it, and the 'Coon went over to the closet and looked at Mr. 'Possum's Sunday suit, and pretty soon got it out and tried on the coat, which would n't need a thing done to it to make it fit exactly. He said he hoped Mr. 'Possum was resting well, after the medicine, which he supposed was something to make him sleep, as he had seemed drowsy so soon after taking it. He said it would be sad, of course, though it might seem almost a blessing, if Mr. 'Possum should pass away in his sleep, without knowing it, and he hoped Mr. 'Possum would rest in peace and not come back to distress people, as one of Mr. 'Coon's own ancestors had done, a good while ago. Mr. 'Coon said his mother used to tell them about it when she wanted to keep them at home nights, though he did n't really believe in such things much, any more, and he did n't think Mr. 'Possum would be apt to do it, anyway, because he was always quite a hand to rest well. Of course, any one was likely to think of such things, he said, and get a little nervous, especially at a time like thisand just then Mr. 'Coon looked toward the door that led down to the big room, and Mr. Crow he looked toward that door, too, and Mr. 'Coon gave a great jump, and said:

"Oh, my gracious!" and fell back over Mr. 'Possum's chair.

For there in the door stood a figure shrouded all in white, all except the head, which was Mr. 'Possum's, though very solemn, its eyes looking straight at Mr. 'Coon, who still had on Mr. 'Possum's coat, though he was doing his best to get it off, and at Mr. Crow, who still had Mr. 'Possum's pipe, though he was trying every way to hide it, and both of them were scrabbling around on the floor and saying, "Oh, Mr. 'Possum, go away - please go away, Mr. 'Possum - we always loved you, Mr. 'Possum-we can prove it."

But Mr. 'Possum looked straight at Mr. 'Coon, and said in a deep voice: "What were you doing with my Sunday coat on?"

And Mr. 'Coon tried to say something, but only made a few weak noises. And Mr. 'Possum looked at Mr. Crow and said:

"What were you doing with my pipe?" And a little sweat broke out on Mr. Crow's bill, and he opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but could n't make a sound.

Then Mr. 'Possum said, in a slow voice, so deep that it seemed to come from down in the ground:

"Give me my things!"

And Mr. 'Coon and Mr. Crow said, very shaky:

"Oh y-yes, Mr. 'Possum, w-we meant to, a-all the t-time."

And they tried to get up, but were so scared and weak they could n't, and all at once Mr. 'Possum gave a great

himself, and not just his appearance, as they had thought. Then they sat up, and pretty soon began to laugh, too, though not very gaily at first, but feeling more cheerful every minute, because Mr. 'Possum himself seemed to enjoy it so much.

Then Mr. 'Possum told them about everything, and how Mr. Man's medicine must have made him well, for all his pains and sorrows had left him, and he invited them down to help finish up the chicken which had cost him so much suffering.

So then they all went down to the big room and the Crow brought in the big platter of dumplings, and a pan of biscuits and some molasses, and a pot of coffee, and they all sat down and celebrated Mr. 'Possum's recovery. And when they were through, and everything was put away, they smoked, and Mr. 'Possum said he was glad he was there to use his property a little more, and that probably his coat would fit him. again now, as his sickness had caused him to lose flesh. He said that Mr. Man's medicine was certainly wonderful, but just then Mr. Rabbit dropped in, and when they told him about it, he said. of course the medicine might have had some effect, but that the dumplings and chicken caused the real cure. He said there was an old adage to prove that one that his thirty-fifth great-grandfather had made for just such a case of this kind. This, Mr. Rabbit said, was the adage:

"If you want to live forever

Stuff a cold and starve a fever."

Mr. 'Possum's trouble had come from catching cold, he said, so the dumplings were probably just what he needed.

Then Mr. Owl dropped in to see how his patient was, and when he saw him sitting up, and smoking, and well, he said it was wonderful how his treatment had worked, and the Hollow Tree people did n't tell him any different, for they did n't like to hurt Mr. Owl's feelings.

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Prominent among writers of the new realistic nature literature is Dallas Lore Sharp (1870-), professor of English in Boston University. Mr. Sharp's stories and descriptive sketches of nature reveal charming details in out-of-door life that the ordinary observer overlooks, and they encourage the reader to seek entertainment in fields and woods. Most of his nature writings are suitable for pupils in grades from the fifth to the eighth. Some of his books are Beyond the Pasture Bars, A Watcher in the Woods, Roof and Meadow, and Where Rolls the Oregon. ("Wild Life in the Farm Yard," from Beyond the Pasture Bars, is used by permission of The Century Co., New York City.)

WILD LIFE IN THE FARM-YARD

DALLAS LORE SHARP

I want you to visit a farm where there are turkeys and geese and guineas. If you live in New York City or in Chicago you may not be able to do so for some time. Then take a trip to the market or to the zoological gardens. But most of you live close enough to the country, so that you could easily find a farmer who would invite you out to see his prize gobbler and his great hissing gander.

However, I shall not wait to send you for I am going to take you-now—out to an old farm that I loved as a boy.

I want you to see the turkeys. I want you to follow an old hen turkey to her stolen nest. I want you to watch the old gobbler turkey take his family to bed-to roost, I mean. For unless you are a boy, and are living in the wild portions of Georgia and the southeastern. states, you may never see a wild turkey. For that reason I want you to watch this tame turkey, because he is almost as wild as a wild turkey in everything except his fear of you. He has been tamed, we know, since the year 1526, yet not one of his wild habits has been changed.

So it is with the house cat. We have tamed the house cat, but we have not changed the wild, night-prowling hunter in him. You have to smooth a cat the right way, or the wild cat in him will scratch and bite you. Have you never seen his tail twitch, his eyes blaze, his claws work as he has crouched watching at a rat's hole, or crawled stealthily upon a bird in the meadow grass?

So, if you will watch, you shall see. real wild turkey in the tamest old a gobbler on the farm.

Watch him go to roost. Watch him get ready to go to roost, I should say, for a turkey seems to begin to think of roosting about noon-time, especially in the winter; and it takes him from about

noon till night to make up his mind that he really must go to roost.

one

He comes along under the apple-tree of a December afternoon and looks up at the leafless limbs where he has been roosting since summer. He stretches his long neck, lays his little brainless. head over on one side, then over on the other. He takes a good long look at the limb. Then bobs his headtwo-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nineten times, or perhaps twenty-two or three times, and takes a still longer look at the limb, saying to himself-quint, quint, quint, quint! which means: "I think I'll go to roost! I think I'll go to roost! I think I'll go to roost! I think I'll go to roost! I think I'll go to roost! I think I'll go to roost!" He thinks he will, but he has n't made up his mind. quite.

Then he stretches his long neck again, lays his little witless head on the side again, bobs and bobs, looks and looks and looks, says quint, quint, quint, quint"I think I'll go to roost," but is just as undecided as ever.

He does the performance over and over again and would never go to roost if the darkness did not come and compel him. He would stand under that tree stretching, turning, looking, bobbing, "squinting," thinking, until he thought his head off, saying all the while

One for the money; two for the show;

Three to get ready; and four to

get ready to go!

But after a while, along toward dusk. (and awfully suddenly!)-flop! gobble! splutter! whoop!-and there he is, up on the limb, safe! Really safe! But it was an exceedingly close call.

And this is the very way the wild turkey acts. The naturalists who had a chance to study the great flocks of wild turkeys years ago describe these same absurd actions. This lack of snap and decision is not something the tame turkey has learned in the farm-yard. The fact is he does not seem to have learned anything during his 350 years in the barn-yard, nor does he seem to have forgotten anything that he knew as a wild turkey in the woods, except his fear of man.

Late in October the wild turkeys of a given neighborhood would get together in flocks of from ten to a hundred and travel on foot through the rich bottom lands in search of food. In these journeys the males would go ahead, apart from the females, and lead the way. The hens, each conducting her family in a more or less separate group, came straggling leisurely along in the rear. As they advanced, they would meet other flocks, thus swelling their numbers.

After a time they were sure to come to a river a dreadful thing, for, like the river of the old song, it was a river to cross. Up and down the banks would stalk the gobblers, stretching their necks out over the water and making believe to start, as they do when going to roost in the apple-trees.

All day long, all the next day, all the third day, if the river was wide, they would strut and cluck along the shore, making up their minds.

The ridiculous creatures have wings; they can fly; but they are afraid! After all these days, however, the whole flock has mounted the tallest trees along the bank. One of the gobblers has come forward as leader in the emergency. Suddenly, from his perch, he utters a

single cluck-the signal for the start, -and every turkey sails into the air. There is a great flapping-and the terrible river is crossed.

A few weak members fall on the way over, but not to drown. Drawing their wings close in against their sides, and spreading their round fan-like tails to the breeze, they strike out as if born to swim, and come quickly to land.

The tame turkey-hen is notorious for stealing her nest. The wild hen steals hers-not to plague her owner, of course, as is the common belief about the domestic turkey, but to get away from the gobbler, who, in order to prolong the honeymoon, will break the eggs as fast as they are laid. He has just enough brains to be sentimental, jealous, and boundlessly fond of himself. His wives, too, are foolish enough to worship him, until- there is an egg in the nest. That event makes them wise. They understand this strutting coxcomb, and quietly turning their backs on him, leave him to parade alone.

There are crows, also, and buzzards from whom the wild turkey hen must hide the eggs. Nor dare she forget her own danger while sitting, for there are foxes, owls, and prowling lynxes ready enough to pounce upon her. On the farm there are still many of these enemies besides the worst of them all, the farmer himself.

For a nest the wild hen, like the tame turkey of the pasture, scratches a slight depression in the ground, usually under a thick bush, sometimes in a hollow log, and there lays from twelve to twenty eggs, which are somewhat smaller and more elongated than the tame turkey's, but of the same color: dull cream, sprinkled with reddish dots.