If it hadn't been for those two worries, Unc' Billy would have been
willing to stay there the rest of the winter. It was delightfully warm
and cosy. He knew which nest Mrs. Speckles always used and which one
Mrs. Feathertoes liked best, and he knew that of all the eggs laid in
Farmer Brown's hen-house those laid by Mrs. Speckles and Mrs.
Feathertoes were the best. Having all the eggs he could eat, Unc'
Billy had grown very particular. Nothing but the best, the very best,
would do for him. So he would lie curled up in the last nest of the
top row in the darkest corner and wait until he heard the high-pitched
voice of Mrs. Speckles proudly crying:
"Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, cut-aa-cut! I lay the finest eggs in the
world!"
Then Unc' Billy would chuckle to himself and wait a few minutes longer
for the voice of Mrs. Feathertoes, saying: "Cut, cut, cut, cut,
cut-aa-cut, cut, cut, cut! No one lays such splendid eggs as I do!"
Then, while Mrs. Speckles and Mrs. Feathertoes were disputing as to
which laid the best eggs, Unc' Billy would slip out and breakfast on
both those newly laid eggs.
So for almost a week Unc' Billy lived in Farmer Brown's hen-house and
ate the eggs of Mrs. Speckles and Mrs. Feathertoes and hid in the last
nest of the top row in the darkest corner and shivered as he heard
Farmer Brown's boy tell what would happen if he caught the one who was
stealing those eggs.
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