UNC' BILLY POSSUM did a lot of thinking. He was a prisoner, just as much a prisoner as if he were in a cage. Now Unc' Billy Possum wouldn't have minded being a prisoner in the hen-house but for two things; he was dreadfully afraid that his old friend and partner, Jimmy Skunk, would get hungry for eggs and would get caught in the traps, and he was still more afraid that Farmer Brown's boy would think to put his hand down under the hay in the last nest of the top row in the darkest corner. So Unc' Billy spent most of his time studying and thinking of some way to get out, and if he couldn't do that, of some way to warn Jimmy Skunk to keep away from Farmer Brown's hen-house.
 
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!"
 
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