Possum wouldn't
have been worried. But all those things did happen.
After Jimmy Skunk had mentioned his fine breakfast of fresh eggs, Unc'
Billy Possum couldn't think of anything else. He knew well enough
where Jimmy had found those eggs. Yes, indeed, Unc' Billy knew all
about it. He could shut his eyes and just see the inside of Farmer
Brown's hen-house with the rows of hens and roosters sitting on the
roosts at one end, their heads tucked under their wings. He could see
the rows of nests and the beautiful brown eggs in them. Jimmy Skunk
couldn't climb, and so he could have gotten only the eggs in the lower
nests. Now if he, Unc' Billy, had been there, he could have climbed to
the very topmost nest and--but what was the use of thinking about it?
He hadn't been there, and he couldn't go now, because it was daylight.
All the rest of the day Unc' Billy tried to sleep, but when he did
sleep he dreamed about eggs, nice, fresh, delicious eggs, and when he
was awake he though about eggs. It made him more and more uneasy and
fidgety. Old Mrs. Possum couldn't stand it.
"What all am the matter with yo'?" she snapped. "Ah do wish yo' would
keep still a minute!"
Unc' Billy muttered something, but all that Mrs. Possum could hear was
"eggs."
"Now don't yo'all get to thinking of such foolishness as eggs," she
commanded. "It isn't safe to be snooping around Farmer Brown's
hen-house when there's snow on the ground.
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