So he headed for the familiar old wishing-stone that overlooked the Green Meadows and the corn-field, and was not so very far from the Green Forest; and when he reached it, he sat down. It is doubtful if Tommy ever got past that old stone without sitting down on it. This time he had no intention of wishing himself into anything, yet hardly had he sat down when he did. You see his thoughts were all of Bobby Coon, and so, without stopping to think where he was, he said to no one in particular: “There are some things I want to know about raccoons. I wish I could be one long enough to find out.” * * * * * Tommy’s wish had come true. He was no longer Tommy the boy, but Tommy the coon. He was a thick-set, rather clumsy-looking gray-coated fellow, with a black ringed tail and a black band across the eyes. His ears were sharp, and his face was not unlike that of Reddy Fox in its outline. His toes were long and bare; and when he walked, it was with his whole foot on the ground as a man does and as a bear does. In fact, although he didn’t know it, he was own cousin to Buster Bear. Tommy’s home was a hollow tree with the entrance high up. Inside he had a comfortable bed, and there he spent his days sleeping away the long hours of sunshine. Night was the time he liked best to be abroad, and then he roamed far and wide without fear. Reddy Fox he was not afraid of at all. In fact there was no one he feared much but man, and in the darkness of the night he thought he need not even fear him. Tommy’s hollow tree was in a swamp through which flowed a brook, and it was Tommy’s delight to explore this brook, sometimes up, sometimes down. In it were fish to be caught, and Tommy as a boy never delighted in fishing more than did Tommy as a coon. On moonlight nights he would steal softly up to a quiet pool and, on the very edge of it, possess himself in patience, as a good fisherman should. Presently a careless fish would swim within reach. A swift scoop with a black little paw with five sharp little hooks extended--and the fish would be high and dry on the shore. It was great fun. Sometimes he would visit marshy places where the frogs were making the night noisy with a mighty chorus. This was the easiest kind of hunting. He had only to locate the spot from which one of those voices issued, steal softly up, and there was one less singer, though the voice would hardly be missed in the great chorus. Occasionally he would take a hint from Jerry Muskrat and, where the water was very shallow, dig out a few mussels or fresh-water clams.