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. Yo' just fo'get all about
eggs! Do yo' hear what Ah say?"

Unc' Billy nodded that he did. But just the same he couldn't think of
anything else. He knew that old Mrs. Possum was right, and that it
wasn't safe to go fooling around Farmer Brown's hen-house and leaving
his tracks for everybody who came along to see. Just the same, Unc'
Billy felt that he had got to have a nice fresh egg. He had got to
have it. That is all there was about it.

As soon as jolly, round, red Mr. Sun had gone to bed behind the Purple
Hills that night, Unc' Billy crept out of his home in the hollow tree.

"Where are yo' going?" demanded Mrs. Possum.

"Just to stretch the kinks out of mah legs," replied Unc' Billy.