"Wow-oow, ow, ow, ooo!" Again the hounds bayed, and close at hand this time. Peter laid his small black ears tight to his head, as he streaked in and out of the tangled jungles, looking like a glint of something silvery when the moonbeams struck against his grey fur coat. Suddenly the hounds leaped right out in plain sight of Peter. Instantly he had spied them--three yellow terrors with their long flappy ears, eager, dribbling jaws, and red, bleary eyes, which could spy out a coon or possum, no matter how tall a tree he had climbed into to hide. This happened to be a lucky night for Peter, and he managed to save his grey pelt, reaching his home tree before the moon went down. He began to hitch and claw his way up the tree, not too hurriedly, because Peter was very fat. A fat possum cannot climb a large tree trunk very fast; that is why a possum, if he is big and fat, will usually select a small tree when he wishes to climb out of danger very quickly. When Peter got up to the entrance of the nest, the grey, furry face of Mrs. Possum, with its round gentle eyes, was not there to greet him as usual. When he climbed down deep into the nest, no soft warm body was there to break his fall, and no gentle welcoming growl did he hear; the nest was cold and empty. At first, Peter fancied that she had simply gone out of the nest to get a breath of fresh air, and perhaps allow the little possums to get a view of the swamp by moonlight, so he didn't worry so very much about her absence. Instead, he just rolled himself up and took a nap, expecting any minute to be awakened by the coming of his mate, when she rolled heavily down into the nest. At daybreak Peter awoke and still Mrs. Possum had not returned. Now Peter, in his funny possum way, was fond of his family, so instead of sleeping all that day, as he usually did, he started out to look for them. First, he took a peep away down below from the edge of the nest; everything was already beginning to wake up for the day. Peter watched his hated neighbours, two old black buzzards, start off, and actually dodged quickly back into the nest as their great shabby, rag-like wings swept close to his grey coat. Once, when the buzzard family were away, and there were eggs in their nest, Peter and his mate were foolish enough to visit their untidy home, to which the old birds returned before Peter and his mate could get away, and then one horrid old buzzard, with a twist of its ugly, skinny neck had "unswallowed" its breakfast upon Peter's fine fur coat. Such is the disgusting habit of all the buzzard tribe, and one such experience was enough for Peter; he never went near the buzzards again.