Never had Unc’ Billy Possum played that old trick of his better than he was playing it now.  Farmer Brown’s boy knew that Unc’ Billy was only pretending to be dead, yet so well did Unc’ Billy pretend that it was hard work for Farmer Brown’s boy to believe what he knew was the truth ­that Unc’ Billy was very much alive and only waiting for a chance to slip away.

They were half-way from the henyard to the house when Bowser the Hound came to meet his master.  “Now we shall see what we shall see,” said Farmer Brown’s boy, as Bowser came trotting up.  “If Unc’ Billy can stand this test, I’ll take off my hat to him every time we meet hereafter.”  He held Unc’ Billy out to Bowser, and Bowser sniffed him all over.

Just imagine that!  Just think of being nosed and sniffed at by one of whom you were terribly afraid and not so much as twitching an ear!  Farmer Brown’s boy dropped Unc’ Billy on the ground, and Bowser rolled him over and sniffed at him and then looked up at his master, as much as to say:  “This fellow doesn’t interest me.  He’s dead.  He must be the fellow I saw go under the henhouse last night.  How did you kill him?”

Farmer Brown’s boy laughed and picked Unc’ Billy up by the tail again.  “He’s fooled you all right, old fellow, and you don’t know it,” said he to Bowser, as the latter pranced on ahead to the house.  The mother of Farmer Brown’s boy was in the doorway, watching them approach.

“What have you got there?” she demanded.  “I declare if it isn’t a Possum!  Where did you kill him?  Was he the cause of all that racket among the chickens?”

Farmer Brown’s boy took Unc’ Billy into the kitchen and dropped him on a chair.  Mrs. Brown came over to look at him closer.  “Poor little fellow,” said she.  “Poor little fellow.  It was too bad he got into mischief and had to be killed.  I don’t suppose he knew any better.  Somehow it always seems wrong to me to kill these little creatures just because they get into mischief when all the time they don’t know that they are in mischief.”  She stroked Unc’ Billy gently.

The eyes of Farmer Brown’s boy twinkled.  He went over to a corner and pulled a straw from his mother’s broom.  Then he returned to Unc’ Billy and began to tickle Unc’ Billy’s nose.  Mrs. Brown looked puzzled.  She was puzzled.

“What are you doing that for?” she asked.

“Just for fun,” replied Farmer Brown’s boy and kept on tickling Unc’ Billy’s nose.  Now Unc’ Billy could stand having his tail pinched, and being carried head down, and being dropped on the ground, but this was too much for him; he wanted to sneeze.  He had got to sneeze.  He did sneeze.  He couldn’t help it, though it were to cost him his life.

“Land of love!” exclaimed Mrs. Brown, jumping back and clutching her skirts in both hands as if she expected Unc’ Billy would try to take refuge behind them.  “Do you mean to say that that Possum is alive?”

“Seems that way,” replied Farmer Brown’s boy as Unc’ Billy sneezed again, for that straw was still tickling his nose.  “I should certainly say it seems that way.  The old sinner is no more dead than I am.  He’s just pretending.  He fooled you all right, Mother, but he didn’t fool me.  I haven’t hurt a hair of him.  You ought to know me well enough by this time to know that I wouldn’t hurt him.”

He looked at his mother reproachfully, and she hastened to apologize.  “But what could I think?” she demanded.  “If he isn’t a dead-looking creature, I never have seen one.  What are you going to do with him, son?”

“Take him over to the Green Forest after breakfast and let him go,” replied Farmer Brown’s boy.

This is just what he did do, and Unc’ Billy wasted no time in getting home.  It was a long time before he met Jimmy Skunk again.  When he did, Jimmy was his usual good-natured self, and Unc’ Billy was wise enough not to refer to eggs.