er, for the mud in his tub. Out in the Bear Swamp, the
streams that wandered about under the great high-spreading gums, and lost
their way in the shadows, were crystal-clear and pure; and out there it
was intended that he should dwell, and in those sweet streams that he
should wash. But what a modicum of wit, of originality the little beast
had, that, because he was born a washer, wash he must, though he washed in
mud, nay, though he washed upon the upturned bottom of his empty tub!--for
this is what Mux did sometimes.

I never blamed Aunt Milly for insisting upon this rather ill-sounding name
of "Mux" for the little coon. She was standing by his cage, shortly after
his arrival, watching him eat cabbage. He washed every clean white piece
of it in his oozy tub before tasting it, coating the bits over with mud as
you do the lumps of fondant with chocolate in making "chocolate creams."
Aunt Milly looked at him for some time with scornful face and finally
exclaimed:

"Umph! Dat animile am a dumb beast shu'! Rubbin' dirt right inter clean
cabbage! Sich muxin'! mux, mux, mux! Dat a coon? Dat ain't no coon. Dat's
a mux!" And she scuffed off to the house, mumbling, "De muxinest thing I
done evah seen." Hence his name.

If there is one sweetmeat sweeter than all others to a coon, it is a
frog. It was not mere chance that Mux was born in the edge of the Bear
Swamp, close to the wide marshes that ran out to the river. This was the
great country of the frogs--the milk-and-honey country to the ring-tailed
family in the hollow gum. But Mux had never tasted frog. He had not been
weaned when I kidnapped him. One day, wishing to see if he knew what a
frog was, I carelessly offered him a big spotted fellow that I had caught
in the meadow.

Did he know a frog? He fairly snatched the poor thing from me, killed it,
and started around the cage with it in his mouth, dancing like a cannibal.
His long, serious face was more thoughtful and solemn, however, than
usual. I was puzzled. I had heard of dancing at funerals. Either this was
such a dance, or else some wild orgy to propitiate the spirits that
preside over the destiny of coons.

Throughout this gruesome rite Mux held the frog in his mouth, and I
watched, expecting, hoping every moment that he would swallow it. Suddenly
he stopped, sat down by his tub, pulled some dead grass out of it,
plunged the frog in, and began to scrub it--began to scrub the frog in the
oozy contents of that tub