First he went to the barn and filled one pocket--you see, he was a big
boy now and had pockets--one, two, three, four, five, six, seven--one
over his heart, two close by his belt, one on the inside of his
jacket, one on each side of his hips, and two in the back of his
corduroy trousers. Well, he filled pocket number one with golden
kernels of corn from the sack; pocket number two with meal from
another sack; and he filled pocket number three with lettuce leaves
from the garden; and number four with birdseed from a little box. That
makes four pockets.

To fill the others, he had to make three more journeys--three very
strange journeys, so strange you could never guess where he was going.
First he went to the wagon-shed, and there, because it was near the
three kennels, was kept the box of dog-biscuit. Six of these biscuits
went in the fifth pocket. Let's see--yes, that leaves two more to be
filled.

For the sixth, he went into his own little room and got a bottle with
a stopper in it, one which he had begged from the doctor that time he
was sick. Then he went to the springhouse by the well, and filled the
little bottle with milk from the big can.

But the seventh pocket had the strangest load of all. He took his
shovel and actually dug some worms from the garden, long, wriggly
worms--"night-walkers," the boys call them--and placed them in a can,
and presto! that too went into his pocket, the seventh. And now all
the pockets were filled.

And, mind you, he did all this by himself. And when he came back from
all these errands he bulged out in such funny places, the places where