Billy sat under the Singing Tree. "Time for supper, isn't it, Mr. Tree?" he said; "I'm as hungry as a wolf."

Immediately the tree commenced to sing, "Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the pot nine days old," and with a rustle of leaves it handed down three kinds of porridge. Billy chose some of the hot pease porridge and found it very good.

Then it sang, "Little fishey in the brook, papa caught it with a hook, mamma fried it in a pan and Billy ate it like a man," at the same time handing him a sizzling hot fish on a clean white platter. The fish was done to a turn and it's no wonder Billy left nothing but the bones.

Next came "Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker's man! so I will, master, as fast as I can; pat it and prick it and mark it with B; put in the oven for Billy and me."

"There," said Billy, when that was finished, "I feel as though I'd had almost enough; but a little pie would——"

And sure enough, the tree sang "Little Jack Horner sat in a corner, eating a Xmas pie; he put in his thumb and he took out a plum and said what a good boy am I!"

Of course, one plum was gone, because Jack Horner had taken that, but there were plenty more left, and Billy ate to his heart's content.

So it was every night, and Billy never wanted for plenty to eat.

But this night he had had such a hearty meal that I fear it made him a bit restless in his sleep. At any rate, some time in the middle of the night he was awakened by a voice calling "Umberufen," and a tiny hand thumping him on the chest.

"Was-smatter?" asked Billy sleepily.

"Umberufen," said the voice.

"Oh!" said Billy, sitting up suddenly and upsetting a little old man with wooden pajamas and a nut-cracker face. "Who's Umberufen?"

"I am, and you called me out of a sound sleep. I do think you mortals are the most inconsiderate people I ever met," said Umberufen angrily. "Now what do you want? Tell me quickly, because I want to get back to my sawdust bed."

"I didn't call you—I've been asleep myself."

"You did—there's no use trying to deceive me. I distinctly felt it when you touched wood—why," pointing at Billy's hand which rested on the trunk of the singing tree, "you're still touching wood. Now tell me you didn't call me."

"What has my touching wood to do with you?" asked Billy.

"It calls me to you, worse luck—what a dull fat boy you are, to be sure," said Umberufen scornfully.

"How was I to know? I've not made any arrangement with you, I'm sure."

"Well, if you didn't, your Fairy Godfather did, and got me dirt cheap at that—ten cents a day and traveling expenses. But speak up, what do you want?"

"I want to go to sleep," said Billy crossly.

"But you were asleep," replied Umberufen.

"Yes, I was."

"Then if you were asleep, why did you call me to tell me you wanted to go to sleep?"

"It was an accident," said Billy. "I didn't want you, don't want you, and if you can't do anything but scold a fellow because you came when you weren't wanted, I don't ever want to see you again. Good-night." And Billy turned over in a huff and closed his eyes.

"But I can't go until I do something for you-those are my orders," said Umberufen sulkily. "You called me here and you've got to abide by the consequences."

"I don't care what you do. Well, then, stand on your head," said Billy.

"Zip"—and there stood little old Umberufen on his head. "Why didn't you say so sooner?" said he as he regained his feet. "I'd have been home by this time—good-night," and he was gone.

When Billy woke in the morning he felt just a bit sleepy and cross, but after he and Barker had had a game of romps he felt better, and tucking the dog under his arm he jumped off into space singing gaily.

"My gracious, what a big sea shore this is!" exclaimed Billy, when he drifted down to earth again; "and how hot the sun is, but where is the water?"

And Billy stood wiping the perspiration from his brow, while Barker squirmed out of his arms and stood in Billy's shadow with his tongue lolling out.

"It seems to me the singing tree can help us here," said Billy.

Barker undoubtedly understood him, and thought it a splendid plan, for quick as a flash his little fore paws had dug a hole in the soft sand. He barked into it, kicked the sand in again with his hind legs, and he and Billy were soon sitting in the grateful shade of the tree.

"Ah-h," said Billy, "this is what I call comfort."

"Comfort," said a voice on the other side of the tree, "much you know about comfort." The voice was followed by the saddest-looking mortal that Billy had ever beheld. A regular sugar-loaf head—large at the jaws and small at the top, scrawny neck, sloping shoulders, and skinny legs. And such a face—weeping beady eyes, a long sharp nose and thin lips turned down at the corners.

"Who are you?" asked Billy sharply. "And what do you mean by coming up so suddenly?"

"I'm a hermit, and this is my fast day, so I couldn't come slowly," said the man sadly.

"What is a fast day?" asked Billy.

"A day when you don't eat."

"Oh!" said Billy, "I thought you meant a day when time flies."

"No," said the man, wrapping his legs around and around each other, "no; if that were the case every day would be a fast day, because it's always fly time in this desert."

"You seem unhappy. Cheer up!"

"I can't cheer up. How is a fellow to cheer when he can't speak above a whisper?"

"I mean laugh," said Billy.

"Laugh," said the man wearily, "what's that?"

"Don't you know what a laugh is?" cried Billy, in surprise. "Why, this is a laugh: ha-ha-ha!"

"I don't see any sense in that," said the Hermit; "that's just a noise."

"Of course it's a noise. Come, now, I'll tell you a joke: When is a door not a door?" Of course it was very, very old, but so was the Hermit, and Billy wanted to start with the simplest joke he could think of.

"Quite impossible."

"No; when it's a-jar. Isn't that a good one?" said Billy. "Ha-ha-ha!"

"Oh, my! oh, me! what a terrible thing!" cried the man, bursting into tears. "Suppose all the doors should be changed into jars, what would the poor people do?"

"But don't you see, that's the joke," said Billy; "a-jar means partly open."

"Yes, but if it were still a door how could it be a jar? It's got to be one or the other."

"Oh, pshaw!" said Billy, in disgust; "can't you see it's a joke. I think it's very funny."

"Oh! is that funny?" asked the Hermit.

"Of course."

"Then that's the reason it doesn't make me laugh. When I was a boy I broke my humerus and had to have my funny bone extracted, so I can't see anything funny."

"Poor fellow!" said Billy sympathetically. "What town is that over there?"

"Mirage town," said the Hermit; "but you can't reach it unless you fly."

"Why not?"

"It's built in the sky."

"In the sky? Is it on the road to Bogie Man's house?"

"Are you seeking Bogie Man? Oh, me! oh, my! Don't tell me you are seeking him."

"But I am," said Billy; "why not?"

"Because I've got to hold you if you are, and I'm so tired," said the Hermit, slowly reaching out his arms.

"Good-by," cried Billy, giving a jump and bounding out of his reach.

"Oh! please come back and tell me another joke, I haven't had a good cry for a week," called the Hermit, holding out his arms.

"Too late," Billy called back—"But when is a door not a door? when its a jar."

"Thank you," sobbed the Hermit, and the last Billy saw or heard of him he was murmuring, "When is a door a jar," and weeping bitterly.

In a twinkling Billy stood at the gates of Mirage Town. Far beneath him he could see the burning hot desert, while through the gates he could see cool, airy houses, beautiful streets shaded by great trees and far beyond soft, green meadows and sparkling brooks.

"My goodness, but I'm thirsty," said Billy to himself. "I wish the gate keeper would hurry and let me in," and again and again he knocked, but seemingly with no result.

Finally when his throat was parched and his tongue dry with thirst, he could stand it no longer. He put his shoulder to the gates—open they swung, and Billy fell inside on his face. "Why, it was just like pushing clouds away," he exclaimed.

"But I'm in the sun here; I must cross to the other side."

So across the street he ran.

"Why this is strange, I was sure this was the shady side," he said in surprise. For when he got there the sun if anything was hotter than ever and the side he had left was cool, shady and inviting.

Billy shut his eyes. "I'm afraid this is sun-stroke," he said, "anyway I'll try again," and back he ran as hard as he could go. But when he got across it was the same thing as before.

"Come in and rest," called a voice from a house at his side; "you look hot and tired—come in and rest your face and hands."

"Thank you, I will," said Billy, gratefully, not noticing that the voice was just a wee bit derisive.

"This way," called the voice; "turn the knob and walk in—if you can."

"Oh! I can," said Billy, walking toward the door of the house he thought he heard the voice coming from.

"Not that way—I'm across the street," called the voice.

"Oh!" said Billy, politely, starting across again, "I beg your pardon—I thought——"

"Think again," said the voice; "are you coming in or not? I'm not over here, I'm over there."

"Where?"

"Back where you're coming from."

"I thought you said—" began Billy.

"It doesn't make any difference what I said, I didn't say it," answered the voice.

Billy began to lose his temper.

"Are you making fun of me—who are you anyway?"

"I'm Nothing Divided By Two."

"Why, that's nothing," said Billy.

"Wrong," answered the voice.

"Why?"

"Don't ask so many questions—are you coming in or not?"

"I think not," said Billy, "I can't spare the time."

"I suppose you think you'll have to get right on to Bogie Man's House."

"Yes."

"But you're not—you'll never get away from Mirage Town."

"Why not?" asked Billy,

"Because there is no such place."

"But I'm here."

"That's the trouble—you are in a town that doesn't exist, so of course, you are not in any place. And, if you'll tell me how you can leave a place where you're not I'll——"

"I'll show you," said Billy angrily, "I'll jump out," and he tried to jump.

"No use," said the voice laughing, "there's nothing under your feet—and you can't jump from nothing."

"Well, I'll get a drink of water from that brook and then you'll see," said Billy, "I'll go out by the gate I entered."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the voice, "try and see."

Nothing daunted, however, Billy ran toward the brook—"Can't catch me—can't catch me," called the brook, "running boys can't catch running brooks."

"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."

Down grew the tree; shorter and shorter it grew, and sure enough, in a minute Billy was on solid ground and Mirage Town had disappeared from view.