"Indeed I will," and sure enough after a long hard run Billy reached the brook. "Now," said he exultingly, "now I've got you." Dipping his cap deep into the water he eagerly lifted it to his lips and found it—empty, while far off down the road ran the brook.
Billy came very near crying, he was so hot and thirsty and disappointed. But he swallowed the lump in his throat (which, being salty, made him thirstier than ever) and turned back again.
"The gates are all that's left," he said, bravely, "and I'll catch them, I'm sure." But it wasn't to be, for the farther and the harder he ran, the farther off the gates were. And finally he sank down, entirely out of breath.
"No water, no shade, no trees—why the Singing Tree, of course," he cried, delightedly. Out jumped Barker, scratch, scratch, scratch, bow-wow-wow, and, "Bing!" the topmost branches of the Singing Tree popped up and almost struck Billy in the face.
"Hello!" cried Billy, "where are your roots? I don't see anything but branches."
"Two miles below, where they ought to grow," sang the tree. "Come, hold on tight, you'll be all right."
And Billy seized the branch that held itself out to him.
"Hold on there, I want to speak to you," called the voice that had teased him so.
"I'll hold on," called Billy, "but I'll soon be out of your hearing."