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.

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.

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.

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.