"No! They won't touch this tree," his mother told him. "It's an old
tree, and hollow--so they won't chop it down. It's only the good sound
trees that they'll take."

"But I thought this was a good tree." Fatty was puzzled.

"So it is, my son! It's a good tree for us. But not for the loggers.
They would have little use for it."

Fatty Coon felt better when he heard that. And he had a good deal of
fun, peeping down at the loggers and watching them work. But he took
care that they should not see HIM. He knew what their bright axes could
do.

When night came Fatty had still more fun. When the loggers were asleep
Fatty went to their camp in the woods beside the brook and he found many
good things to eat. He did not know the names of all the goodies; but he
ate them just the same. He 'specially liked some potatoes which the
careless cook had left in a pan near the open camp-fire. The fire was
out. And the pan rested on a stump close beside it. Fatty Coon climbed
up and crawled right inside the pan. And after he had had one taste of
those potatoes he grew so excited--they were so good--that he tipped the
pan off the stump and the potatoes rolled right into the ashes.

Fatty had jumped to one side, when the tin pan fell. It made a great
clatter; and he kept very still for a few moments, while he listened.
But no one stirred. And then Fatty jumped plump into the ashes.

WHEW! He jumped out again as fast as he could; for beneath the ashes