and the 'Possum."

"What did they do? Tell me that story," commanded the Little Lady,
promptly forgetting her day's work and pulling the Story Teller toward
his chair.

The Story Teller stirred the fire and looked into the blaze a moment,
thinking. The Little Lady climbed up into his lap and waited. She was
used to the Story Teller.

"Tell it," she said, presently.

So then he told her the story of the three friends.

Once upon a time in the far depths of the Big Deep Woods there was a big
hollow tree, with three big hollow branches. In one of these there lived
a 'Coon, in another a 'Possum and in the third a Big Black Crow.

"But crows don't live in hollow trees," said the Little Woman, who
happened to be passing.

"This one did," replied the Story Teller. "I suppose styles have changed
some since then."

The hollow tree below was rather dark, so they all used it for a parlor,
and only met in there now and then, to dust off their things, or when
company came.

Now, the Crow and the 'Coon and the 'Possum were all very fond of good
living and mostly of the same things. They were good friends, too, and
they often made plans to catch young chickens and other game and carried
them out together. Between trips they would sit in their doors and pass
the time of day across to each other, just like folks.

Well, one winter, about two weeks after New Year's, it came on to snow
in the woods where the hollow tree was, and it snowed, and it snowed,
and it snowed.

This was long before sleds or skates, and when big snows always came up
over people's windows and snowed them in. And this is what happened to
the Crow and the 'Coon and the 'Possum. They were snowed in!

Well, they rather liked it at first, for they had a good deal left over
from New Year's dinner, and they used to get together down stairs in
the parlor and spread lunch and pitch the bones under the table and talk
and tell stories and wonder how long the snow would last.

But they never counted on its lasting half so long as it did. Every day
they would look out of an upstairs window that they had, to see if the
storm wasn't over. And every day it was just the same, and there was no
sign of clearing up. Then they began to get scared, for their cupboards
were nearly empty, and there was no chance to catch any more game. At
last every scrap was gone, and there wasn't a thing to eat in the house.

[Illustration: ROCKED ON PURPOSE TO THINK ABOUT IT.]

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