ke
to see anything get into this hen-house now without getting caught!"

Unc' Billy almost chuckled aloud. Yes, Sir, he almost chuckled aloud.
It was such a funny idea that Farmer Brown's boy should have taken all
the trouble to set those traps to catch Unc' Billy trying to get into
the hen-house, when all the time he was already in there.

Unc' Billy laughed under his breath as Farmer Brown's boy closed the
door of the hen-house and went off whistling. "Ho, ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha!
Hee, hee!" Unc' Billy broke off short, right in the very middle of his
laugh. He had just thought of something, and it wasn't funny at all.
With all those traps set at every opening to the hen-house, no one
could get in without getting caught, and of course no one who was in
could get out without getting caught!

The joke wasn't on Farmer Brown's boy, after all; it was on Unc' Billy
Possum. But Unc' Billy couldn't see that it was any joke at all. Unc'
Billy was a prisoner, a prisoner in Farmer Brown's hen-house, and he
didn't know how ever he was going to get out of there.

"It's a long way home," said Unc' Billy mournfully, as he peeped out
of a crack toward the Green Forest.

XIX

WHAT THE SNOW DID

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 co