ver a brush
pile. It's just as plain as can be."

The 'Possum and the 'Coon looked up at the full moon and said that the
spots certainly did look a good deal like Mr. Dog jumping over a brush
pile, but that the Rabbit couldn't prove his story any more than they
could prove theirs, and that it wasn't any better story, if it was as
good.

"Of course I can prove it," said the Rabbit. "There is an old adage
about it, and you can prove anything by an old adage. It goes this
way:--

"The longest way is often best--
Never jump over a cuckoo's nest.

"I don't know just why it says 'cuckoo's nest,' but I suppose cuckoos
always used to build in brush piles in the moon, and maybe they do yet.
Anyhow it proves it."

"Why, yes," said the 'Coon. "Sure enough!"

"That's so! It does!" said the 'Possum.

THE FIRST PIG STORY

MR. CROW SPENDS A SOCIAL EVENING WITH MR. DOG

Once upon a time, said the Story Teller, when the Old Black Crow was
visiting Mr. Dog----

"Was that the night that Mr. Rabbit and the rest told their moon
stories?" interrupted the Little Lady.

The very same night, and the Crow and Mr. Dog got to telling stories,
too.

They told pig stories because they both knew a good deal about pigs, and
Mr. Dog, being in his own house, let the Crow tell first. Mr. Crow said
he was going to tell a true story, so he lit his pipe and began this
way:--

MR. CROW'S STORY OF THE LITTLE PIG.

Well, said Mr. Crow, there was once a lot of little pigs that lived in a
large pen with the big mother pig and were very fat and happy--all but
one.

This poor little fellow was what is called a runt pig, because he was
not nearly so big as the others, nor so strong. They crowded him away at
dinner time, so that he barely got enough to live on, and stayed small
and thin, while the others grew every day fatter and fatter.

At last the little runt pig made up his mind that he would run away
and be a wild pig such as he had heard his brothers and sisters talk
about sometimes after supper.

He thought about it a good deal, and one morning bright and early he
started. Being so little, he squeezed through a small hole in the back
of the pen, and then ran away very fast, without stopping to look
behind. He ran and ran, straight across the barnyard, where there were
some chickens scratching, and out into a big field. When he got so tired
that he could go no further he stopped for a little, and then ran on
again.

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