"Then," Mary said, "if there are any little ones, may I have one?"

"May she, Emilius?"

"Certainly not," Papa said. "She's got too many little opinions of her
own."

"What do you know about opinions?" Uncle Victor said.

Mary was excited and happy. She had never been allowed to talk so much.
She tried to eat her roast chicken in a business-like, grown-up manner,
while she talked.

"I've read about them," she said. "They are dear little animals with long
furry tails, much bigger than Sarah's tail, and they climb up trees."

"Oh, they climb up trees, do they?" Uncle Victor was very polite and
attentive.

"Yes. There's their picture in Bank's Natural History Book. Next to the
Ornythrincus or Duck-billed Plat-i-pus. If they came into the house Mamma
would be frightened. But I would not be frightened. I should stroke
them."

"Do you think," Uncle Victor said, still politely, "you _quite_ know what
you mean?"

"_I_ know," Daniel said, "she means opossums."

"Yes," Mary said. "Opossums."