Hooty had cheated him out of them. Yes, Sir, that is what you
would have thought if you could have heard him muttering to himself
there in the tree-top. In his disappointment over not getting those
eggs, he was so sorry for himself that he actually did feel that he
was the one wronged, -- that Hooty and Mrs. Hooty should have let
him have those eggs.
Of course, that was absolute foolishness, but he made himself
believe it just the same. At least, he pretended to believe it. And
the more he pretended, the angrier he grew. This is often the way
with people who try to wrong others. They grow angry with the ones
they have tried to wrong. When at last Blacky had to confess to
himself that he could think of no other way to get those eggs, he
began to wonder if there was some way to make trouble for Hooty and
Mrs. Hooty. It was right then that he thought of Farmer Brown's boy.
Blacky's eyes snapped. He remembered how, once upon a time, Farmer
Brown's boy had
delighted to rob nests. Blacky had seen him take the eggs from the
nests of Blacky's own relatives and from many other feathered
people. What he did with the eggs, Blacky had no idea. Just now he
didn't care. If Farmer Brown's boy would just happen to find Hooty's
nest, he would be sure to take those eggs, and then he, Blacky,
would feel better. He would feel that he was even with Hooty.
Right away he began to try to think of some way to bring Farmer
Brown's boy over to the lonesome corner of the Green Forest where
Hooty's nest was.
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