Grumpy found it a bit difficult to chat with Mrs. Hen because old dog Spot was sprawled on the farmhouse steps; and naturally Grumpy felt like keeping one eye on him. But the other he turned, as well as he could, on Mrs. Hen, who was in the henyard looking for worms. Just outside the wire fence Grumpy Weasel crouched and told Mrs. Hen how well she was looking.
His pretty speeches pleased Mrs. Hen so much that she actually let a fat angleworm get away from her because she hadn't her mind on what she was doing. She noticed meanwhile that one of her neighbors was making frantic motions, as
if she had something important to say. So Mrs. Hen sauntered across the henyard to find out what it was.
"Don't you know whom you're talking to?" the neighbor demanded in a loud whisper. "That's Grumpy Weasel—the worst rascal in all these parts."
Somehow that sent a pleasant flutter of excitement through Mrs. Hen. At the same time she couldn't quite believe the news, because her caller had said such very pleasant things.
"Don't worry!" she told her neighbor. "I'm old enough to look out for myself."
"I should say so!" her neighbor cried. "You're three years old if you're a day!"
"I'm not!" Mrs. Hen retorted. "I'm only two and a half." Her feathers were all ruffled up and she went straight back and told Grumpy Weasel what her neighbor had said about him.
"You don't believe that, I hope," Grumpy ventured.