After the hermit racoon and his friends had feasted upon sweet corn, they left the corn field and took a stroll down the beach. The tide was out. In among the wet pebbles scurried droves of little green crabs, while clinging to rocks were small, salt wild oysters, which racoons dearly love and which, for this reason, are sometimes called "coon oysters," so greedily do the racoons search for them. It was a funny sight to see the five fat racoons strolling along the beach by moonlight. When they came to a bunch of oysters, down they would plump and, taking the oyster in their hind feet, they would deftly crack it open against a stone and dabble it up and down in the water with their little black hands, washing it thoroughly. For the racoon, you know, from its habit of washing its food, is often called "Lotor, the washer." There the little company of coons stayed until turn of tide, when they went back over the wet sand, treading upon their toes and leaving their almost human five-fingered little tracks all along the beach, as they went back to the forest again. The first to reach home that night was the woodchuck family. They were quite ready for sleep, in the fine burrow which they had spent days in digging. The bushes rustled as they swished them aside, and the rustling they made awakened the badger who had been dozing in the entrance of the burrow. Just as Dame Woodchuck came to her door, out popped the funny painted face of the badger right into her very eyes. It grunted at her fiercely and she hastily backed away with a cry of terror. Never had the woodchucks seen anything like the badger. They waited for it to come out, but it stayed right in the burrow, so the old woodchuck made bold to go to the _rear_ entrance, and squeezing her fat body flat she entered, only to be met by the awful clown-like face again. She hastily backed out. All night the badger remained in possession of the woodchuck's burrow and for days after, until finally they left it to him and began to dig a new burrow some distance away from the old one. The next night all the wild kindred were again astir. The woodchucks had spent most of the day upon their new burrow. They still had to add chambers; it was at least a home, so off they went foraging with the others, for corn is not always in the milk and it is not always moonlight. That night the old hermit racoon had planned to go back into the forest to dig wake-robin roots. Often, after a great feast, the coons enjoy a diet of these roots, perhaps eating them as a sort of medicine, because they are hot and as fiery as pepper, although, with all their biting, peppery taste, the coons devour them greedily. In Indian file, off started the coons, and soon succeeded in finding a bed of the coveted wake-robin roots, which they began to tear up hastily.