When Billy woke up the next morning he felt stiff and sore from being tied down so long by Gammon, and very heavy about the eyes from his lack of sleep.
"I don't feel very hungry this morning, Singing Tree," he said; "I think I'll save my appetite for to-night. May I have some eggs?"
No sooner said than done—
"Higglepy, Piggleby,
My black hen,
She lays eggs
For gentlemen:
Sometimes nine
And sometimes ten,
Higglepy, Piggleby,
My black hen!"
sang the Singing Tree, and held out a bowl of nine steaming hot eggs.
"She is a very good hen, isn't she?" said Billy, "and I suppose, under the circumstances, she must consider me a gentleman, even if I do sometimes forget to brush the cow-lick on the crown of my head. M-m, how good!"
He broke three nice eggs into the cup the tree held out to him, dropped a delicious lump of butter into the cup, shook in a little pepper and a little salt, and sat down on the ground to enjoy his breakfast.
"Give the hen back her eggs, and as they are cooked," he said, laughing, "maybe if she sits on them she will hatch out a chicken fricassee for dinner."
And he went to work with a light heart. He had just gotten down to the last mouthful when a little speck of pepper that had flown into his nose when he seasoned his eggs made him sneeze.