Quickly Billy shovelled in the earth, and lo and behold, quicker than I can tell you about it, there stood the Singing Tree, bowing and smiling.
Just as Billy was going to wish the tree a polite good evening, he saw Barker scampering after a little beam of sunlight that had crept in through the branches of the tree. "Barker, come here," called Billy, but he was too late.
"Snap—gulp," and Barker had swallowed the sunlight.
"I hope it won't make you sick, doggie," said Billy, looking at him anxiously.
But Barker wrinkled his nose at him in such a happy dog smile and wagged his stubby little tail so contentedly that Billy decided he was used to the diet and turned to the Singing Tree.
"Good evening," said Billy, "I hope you are well."
"Mi?-so-so," sang the tree, "pause and rest at my bass."
"Excuse me, sir, but what is your name?" said Billy; "you see I'd like to know how to address you."
"C. Octavious Minor," sang the tree. "But it's time you slept. I'll look sharp for accidental intruders and pitch into them with my staff if they bother us; good night."