it was the loveliest of moonlight nights in the early autumn when word was carried from house to house that mrs. raccoon would give an oyster supper.
there was mrs. coon herself, the present mr. coon, and four little coons. at the upper farm lived several branches of the family—uncles and aunts and their respective children. for the coons, as a lot, lived mainly on the farmsteads, or near to them; for, as mrs. ringtail coon, the oldest of them, always declared: "it is altogether wiser to keep in touch with civilization." by which she meant it was wise to live as near as possible to the orchards and the corn-fields, and the good things which farmers keep planting every year, apparently for the especial benefit of just such persons as mr. coon and mr. crow.
"and it is wonderful what a variety of good things you can find to eat if you can run and climb trees and dig in the ground," mr. coon would add, "especially if you live where they are very generous in the gathering, and you can have the best of apples and pears and the sweet corn to add to your table."
so it was altogether best to stick as close to the haunts of mankind as possible, if you could do so without foregoing the pleasures of the river and the woodland.
the great river, be it said, which was sluggish and muddy, contained a thousand things which the coons declared in rather snobbish fashion were not to their taste. they wouldn't go fishing if they could. but the fat mussels which lived in the mud-banks were exactly to mr. and mrs. coon's liking. and to open them is not difficult for a coon who has once learned the trick.
"that's what your wonderful, black fingernails are for," mr. coon always told the children when he taught them to open oysters. "you need only give the joint of the thing a sharp bite, and pull out that tough bit of meat at the end, and then with your nails you can pry the shell right open."
the ability to do this was a matter of pride to the coons, for they knew of no one else who could open oysters. like many people who may excel in a particular art, they fancied that they were the only adepts in the world.
"but there's where they are mistaken," mr. fox would laugh, whenever he heard of the coons and their oyster suppers. for he knew of some one else who could get the juicy meat out of those shells, although it was not himself.
"i really pity their ignorance," he would say. "if they ever went abroad in the daytime they'd see a thing or two, and maybe they'd learn that there are wiser folks in the world than themselves."
this was an unfair thrust at the coons, for their habit of sleeping most of the day should not be laid against them. the world is wisely divided into day workers and night workers anyway, and mr. coon, for his part, always put down such criticism by asking what on earth would happen if everybody rushed to his meals at the same identical moment.
and in this mr. coon revealed the gentility of his nature, for he was a person of manners, and believed not only in a six o'clock dinner, but kept his clothes in the neatest fashion and was constantly washing his face between his two fore legs, brushing his hair and attending to his ears after the accepted fashion of the cat. and the cat, as all the world knows, is the cleanest of beasts.
"your fox is a shaggy creature," he would say. "almost as unkempt as the farm dog, whom i despise."
so it is not to be wondered that mrs. coon, if she were going to have an oyster supper, would have an elegant one.
elegance in the matter of suppers is simply a question of due preparation, and of this mrs. coon was thoroughly aware. nothing would please her husband more, she knew, than to have the party go off without a hitch.
"we'll spend to-night getting ready," she planned. "i can't bear to see people digging in the mud and eating at the same time. it is not nice. perhaps it is well enough on a merely family picnic to let everybody shift for himself, and i know the children rather enjoy getting dirty. i did when i was a little girl. but my ideal of the thing, done as it should be, is to have a great lot of oysters already dug, and arranged in an appetizing pile. it saves time, too, and makes the guests feel better. i never liked these parties where you go digging for your own victuals."
how could an elegant gentleman have a wife more in accord with his desires than that? immediately mr. coon embraced mrs. coon in a loving clasp, for he felt that she was responding to his best and most refined impulses.
for two nights, then, while the october moon rode serenely overhead, ringtail coon and mother coon, with little grayfur and brownie, and the two boys, broadhead and fuzzy muzzle, went from their home in the sweet-gum tree, through the wood to the farm road, under the fence to the orchard, back of the orchard to the corn-field, and then downhill to the steep clay banks of the river. at that point they let themselves tumble over the edge, for there were only bushes to fall into, and mr. coon did not approve of sliding down mud-banks.
"it's hard on the seat of your trousers," he said; "and mother has all the washing she can do."
and then they lost no time digging, but scampered here and there, nosing out the great black shells, which they scratched and worried out of the wet soil, sometimes venturing into the water to get a particularly fat and enticing one.
"we'll store them here in a hole under this cornel bush," ringtail decided; "and if we cover them well, putting back all this driftwood and rubbish on top, no one will guess what's been done."
and no one, indeed, but sly old mr. fox would ever have known what had happened. the tempting collection of oysters, pecks of them, was not, however, to remain unmolested. but as the coons increased their provisions, and worked mightily until the moon went down, they foresaw no accident, and only entertained themselves with happy visions of the remarks and exclamations which their cousins would be sure to make when they beheld such stunning abundance.
"dear me, ringtail, there's only one thing that troubles me. i feel that we ought to invite the 'possums. you know how generous they were in that matter of the persimmons. no one would ever have guessed that there was such a tree in the whole state; and it was, after all, an invitation that they gave us, even if you did threaten mr. 'possum in a business way."
"i guess i did," laughed ringtail as he put another handful of oysters into the hole and stamped them down; "i told wooly 'possum not to be hiding his assets that way or i'd bite his tail off. but go ahead and invite them, if you want to. it'll show that we're not snobbish anyway. and the 'possums are as likely to appreciate all this as anybody. you'll have to open their oysters for them, you know."
"surely, my dear. i will do so gladly. a hostess never gets any of her own party anyway. i don't expect to do anything but watch other people eat. that's the way of receptions and such."
for mrs. coon had arrived at that stage of excitement in which a hostess feels herself elevated and ennobled above humanity in general by virtue of the toiling she has gone through in order to make the rest of the world happy.
by this time they had to stop and take a bite themselves, for day was beginning to break, and the children, at least, must have something to eat. then, having arranged the top of their secret store with the greatest care, and very loath to leave it, they scrambled up the bank and set out for home. tired they were and a little cross, so that the youngsters quarreled a good deal, and mr. coon, slightly worried, was not so pleasant as when he set out.
"oh, nothing," he replied to his wife's inquiry as to why he was so glum. "only i'm a bit anxious about those oysters. it's just possible that somebody may find them."
"oh, pshaw!" was all she would say. "nobody's going near that spot. and if anybody did and went and sat right down on top of them, he'd never guess what was under all those sticks."
but somebody did exactly this. for the coons were all fast asleep in the sweet-gum tree, not even dreaming of their party, when mr. fox edged along the river shore, greatly elated at discovering so many little foot-prints in the mud. it was plain who had been there. and as the dainty tracks centered under the cornel bush, it took no wits at all, and only a little brisk pawing, to discover the secret.
mr. fox laughed as though he would give up. for that is a trait of all foxy natures to go into fits of laughter when the possibility of turning a mean trick presents itself.
"well, of all things!" he finally gasped, as he held his sides. "how mighty kind of them!" then, licking his chops, and fairly choking with humor, he set off just as fast as he could go. up the shore and through the woods he ran; and at a certain tree where a great sentinel crow sat eying the farmers in a distant field, he barked out one short, sharp message.
he had to say nothing more. before he could get back to the spot where the delicious supper was stored, the crows were coming, one and two at a time, then three and four, and finally a small flock of them.
mr. fox got very little for his pains, for the crows were as quick as lightning in their motions. up in the air they flew with an oyster in their beaks, and over the rocks and bowlders which jutted from the shore they would pause but a second to drop their burden. down it would come, breaking to pieces as it fell on the rock, and then the crow would come down almost as fast as the oyster, to tear out the meat and swallow it. mr. fox played around the edges, as it were; for too many crows had come, and they fought him off when he tried to snap up his share.
"oh, well, i don't care much for oysters anyway," he muttered, trying to console himself. but he was in reality bitterly tantalized, and he was truly in tears of disgust when the great black crowd of noisy birds flew at him in a body and drove him off. they benefited by his confidence, but they were utterly selfish, and he suddenly felt wickedly put upon.
what he had done to the coons never occurred to him.
mr. coon never recovered from the mortification of that evening. the guests had assembled in a body; all of his brother's family and their dependents, and the little 'possums, who were so set up at the invitation that they fairly beamed. such toilets had been performed and such preparation of pleasant remarks had gone on, that everybody was in the finest of party feeling.
the walk through the corn-field, the ease and happy expectancy! getting down the mud-bank was not altogether a formal ceremony, for some slid, and some just plunged headlong; but at the bottom everybody brushed his clothes, and the little coons and the little 'possums danced in glee.
then, lo and behold, there was no supper at all! the work that the crows had done was apparent enough. but how they ever knew where to find the banquet was an unsolved mystery to mr. coon.
never again did ringtail or his wife try to be fashionable. "dig and swallow," became the rule at all the oyster suppers; and even at this one, after the disaster had bestowed its first stunning blow, the guests and the company as a whole fell to digging as hard as they could, and ate with might and main.
mrs. coon, having urged the 'possums to come, had to open oysters until her thumbs were sore; but she did it with a good grace, and after everybody got to going, there was all the laughter and happiness the heart could wish.
"yes, it was a merry party, after all," mr. coon admitted several hours later. he was curling up in his sweet-gum tree bedroom, ready for another day's sleep. "but it was a free for all, a regular guzzling. what's the use of trying to be nice when all the world's made up of crows?"
but in this query, mr. ringtail coon was only a bit petulant. the best of it is that he does not know the ignorance of the world. for scarcely anybody appreciates or even guesses the true elegance and the dainty ways of mr. and mrs. raccoon.
