down the opossum’s back. “I’d sure love to have him for a pet.”
“I have my eye on a bullfrog,” said Chris. “There’s one down at Stony Creek. Boy, is he big!”
“You’ll never catch him,” said Skeet.
“I will, too,” answered Chris.
Skeet laughed. “That’s what you think. I tried to catch a bullfrog once. Have you ever put your hand down on one?”
“Well, er—” Chris did not want to tell Skeet that he had, and that the frog was so slippery he got away. So he said nothing more and watched Skeet put Possum White back in his cage.
After that Skeet inspected Pixie’s cage to make certain he had closed the door tight. Then he glanced at Tiny’s empty cage. “I sure wish I knew how Tiny got away last night,” he said. “It’s a mystery to me.”
CHAPTER TWO
A Light in the Night
That night Skeet dreamed he was in Mr. Doolittle’s secret passageway. He walked and walked in the darkness until suddenly he heard a hoot owl. The owl made such a loud noise that Skeet sat up in bed, terrified. Then he shook his head, since he was no longer dreaming. An owl was really hooting outside his window.
Skeet got out of bed, and, kneeling in front of the window, looked up at the tree outside to see if he could catch a glimpse of the bird, but it was so dark outside that all he could see was the leaves of the tree.
“Shucks!” he muttered. It would have been fun to tell Chris that he had seen an owl, especially since his friend was interested in birds.
After a while the owl stopped hooting, and Skeet heard katydids chirping their music. Then a whippoorwill called, and a dog barked in the distance.
A sad expression crept over Skeet’s face as he listened to the dog barking. He was reminded of Tippy, the sheep dog, who had lived on the farm. Last week Tippy had gone to sleep for the last time because of old age. Skeet had been so upset about Tippy that his dad had promised to get another dog very soon, but Skeet felt sure he would not be a second Tippy. No dog could replace him.
With a heavy sigh Skeet was about to leave the window when a light in the meadow caught his attention.
It was a big light, and it moved along, bobbing up and down in the dark.
Skeet could not make out who was carrying the light, but he kept watching until it went into the other barn on the farm.
“Jeepers!” he cried aloud. “I’d better do something—quickly.”
He ran out of the room and into his parents’ bedroom.
“Wake up, Dad!” he shouted, shaking his father by the shoulder. “Wake up!”
Mr. Macdonald opened one sleepy eye and stared at Skeet.
“Someone just went into the barn with a flashlight,” said Skeet. “You’d better get up, Dad. Right away.”
Mr. Macdonald threw back the covers, slipped out of bed, and grabbed a bathrobe to put over his pajamas.
Skeet dashed back to his room for a bathrobe. He caught up with his father hurrying down the stairs with a flashlight.
Once they were outside Mr. Macdonald used the flashlight to guide them. As they walked rapidly across the barnyard, Skeet pulled his bathrobe tightly around him. He shivered from the cool night air and also a little from fright since he was afraid that the person who had gone into the barn might have a gun with him.
When Mr. Macdonald switched on the lights in the barn, Skeet trembled from head to toe, but he went along with his dad. They looked in every part of the barn, even the hayloft where bats were flying in and out of the open window, but they could find no person hiding anywhere.
Skeet suddenly felt foolish. Wishing to defend himself, he said, “I did see someone go into the barn, Dad. Honest I did.”
“I believe you, son, but there is no one here now, so let’s go back to bed.”
Skeet nodded halfheartedly, for he still believed that someone was in the barn, and he wanted to find him. Rather than stay behind, though, he climbed down the ladder from the hayloft and then stopped to take a quick look at his pets. The door to Possum White’s cage was closed, but when Skeet came up to the cage, he discovered that his pet was not there.
“Dad!” he cried out in alarm. “Possum White is gone.”
Mr. Macdonald was about to switch off the lights, but instead he came running when he heard Skeet’s voice. He stared in amazement at Possum White’s empty cage.
“I was right,” said Skeet. “Somebody did come into the barn. He stole Possum White. I wish Tippy had been here because he would have stopped the thief.”
“He certainly would have!” exclaimed Mr. Macdonald. “Tippy was a fine watchdog, but we’re going to get another dog real soon, Skeet, and I’ll get you another pet, too.”
“He won’t be like Possum White.” Skeet bit his lip to keep from crying. “Gee, Dad. Possum White is very special. You don’t often see a white possum.”
“That’s true. You don’t. Skeet, are you sure you didn’t leave the cage door open as you did the one on Pixie’s cage?”
“I’m sure,” Skeet replied positively. “And my friends Chris and Gayle saw me. They’ll vouch for me.”
“All right, son,” said Mr. Macdonald, “I’ll take your word without any vouching. Maybe we’ll find Possum White somewhere in the morning. If not, I’ll call the police. They might be able to help us.”
The tears were streaming down Skeet’s face as he and his dad walked out of the barn, but Skeet managed to look around for any clues to the disappearance of the opossum.
He blinked his eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly, and then cried aloud, “Dad, here are some fresh footprints.”
“Sure enough!” exclaimed Mr. Macdonald. He bent down in the half-light to examine the footprints. “They’re new, Skeet, because they were made since the dew fell tonight. That should be a good lead for the police. I’ll call them the first thing in the morning.”
Skeet slept very little the rest of the night. In the morning he was up at six o’clock. He prepared his own breakfast, and, after eating it, telephoned Chris. Instead of getting his friend, though, he found himself talking to Chris’s father, who sounded very annoyed.
“I’m sorry if I got you out of bed, Mr. Mason,” Skeet apologized. “There has been a robbery here, and I thought Chris should know about it.”
“A robbery!” cried Mr. Mason. “How much cash did the thief get?”
“You don’t understand, Mr. Mason. The thief stole Possum White.”
“Oh, Possum White. That’s too bad. I’m sorry, Skeet. He was your favorite pet, wasn’t he? Well, I’ll tell Chris about it as soon as he gets up.”
It
