To his delight, there were goodies almost without end. He nosed about,
picking up potato peelings, and bits of bacon. And perhaps the best of
all was a piece of cornbread, which Fatty fairly gobbled. And then he
found a box half-full of something--scraps that tasted like apples, only
they were not round like apples, and they were quite dry, instead of
being juicy. But Fatty liked them; and he ate them all, down to the
smallest bit.

He was thirsty, then. So he went down to the brook, which ran close by
the camp. The loggers had cut a hole through the ice, so they could get
water. And Fatty crept close to the edge of the hole and drank. He drank
a great deal of water, because he was very thirsty. And when he had
finished he sat down on the ice for a time. He did not care to stir
about just then. And he did not think he would ever want anything to eat
again.

At last Fatty Coon rose to his feet. He felt very queer. There was a
strange, tight feeling about his stomach. And his sides were no longer
thin. They stuck out just as they had before winter came--only more so.
And what alarmed Fatty was this: his sides seemed to be sticking out
more and more all the time.

He wondered what he had been eating. Those dry things that tasted like
apples--he wondered what they were.

Now, there was some printing on the outside of the box which held those
queer, spongy, flat things. Of course, Fatty Coon could not read, so the
printing did him no good at all. But if you had seen the box, and if you
are old enough to read, you would have known that the printing said: