Anything that is bright and shiny interests Blacky right
away. If he finds anything of this kind, he will take it away to a
certain secret place, and there he will admire it and play with it
and finally hide it. If I didn't know that it isn't so, because it
couldn't possibly be so, I should think that Blacky was some
relation to certain small boys I know. Always their pockets are
filled with all sorts of useless odds and ends which they have
picked up here and there. Blacky has no pockets, so he keeps his
treasures of this kind in a secret hiding-place, a sort of treasure
storehouse. He visits this secretly every day, uncovers his
treasures, and gloats over them and plays with them, then carefully
covers them up again. First Blacky took this egg over near his home,
and there he once more tried and tried and tried to break the
shell. But the shell wouldn't break, not even when Blacky quite lost
his temper and hammered at it for all he was worth. Then he gave the
thing up as a bad matter and flew up to his favorite roost in the
top of a tall pine-tree, leaving the egg on the ground. But from
where he sat on his favorite roost in the tall pine-tree he could
see that provoking egg, a little spot of shining white. When a Jolly
Little Sunbeam found it and rested on it, it was so very bright and
shiny that Blacky couldn't keep his eyes off it.
Little by little he forgot that it was an egg. At least, he forgot
that he wanted to eat it.
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