Off he sprang, dashing into a little clump of trees, about a bow-shot from us, then with a yelp retreated, throwing himself on the ground, uttering short cries, rubbing and rooting his nose down into the grass and sand. Alas, poor Bruno! We knew what it was. We did not see it, we did not hear it, but we knew. He felt that he had been a victim of misplaced confidence; but we suffered with him, for it was days before he got rid of the "bouquet." Then it was as if by an inspiration. He seemed, all at once, to remember something. There was a tiny lake near our place, that was going dry. Day by day its waters had receded, until it was a mere mud-hole. Bruno went down to it, and buried himself up to the eyes in the black mud. He lay there until late afternoon, then trotted off to a wet lake near by, and took a thorough bath. With this, he regained his lost self-respect, but he never forgot the experience. It was only necessary to say,-- "Kitty, kitty, where's kitty?" to make his ears and tail droop in the most dejected manner; then he would creep away, out of sight, till some more agreeable topic of conversation was broached. It was not strange, after such a trying adventure, that Bruno was rather timid about approaching "Br'er 'Possum" when he did meet him. One night, he was found lurking around outside, sniffing some odds and ends that Bruno had disdained. After a little urging, Bruno was induced to seize him. Finding that nothing unpleasant followed, he became from that moment an enthusiastic 'possum-hunter, and used to bring one in every night or two. I usually cooked them for him, and he ate them with a relish, which we thought was fortunate, as we were about twelve miles from a butcher. Another substitute for beef we found in the Florida gopher. This is a grass-eating tortoise, which digs a house for itself in the sand. Bruno soon became a most ardent gopher-hunter. Their hard shells make them difficult to handle, as they promptly draw in the head and legs on being approached; so Bruno would nose one over until he could seize the shovel, a protruding piece of the lower shell. Getting this small bit between his side-teeth, he balanced the weight by holding his head stiffly sideways, and came trotting in. The shadow of the house reached, he dropped the gopher, carefully turning it over on its back, and lay down beside it, to cool off and rest. Then off he would go for another. He kept this up day after day, sometimes having as many as a dozen around the place at once. As often as the creatures managed to flop over so they could use their feet again and start to escape, Bruno, yelping and barking, brought them back, and turned them on their backs. Sometimes, when he returned after a protracted hunt, bringing in a fresh victim, he found several of them escaping at once. Then he would hurriedly drop his latest catch, to speed away, tracking the truants until they were all found and recaptured, to be brought back and nosed over again.