“No, you had better run out and see what Mr. Alder is doing. You can help me after breakfast.”
So Clematis ran out.
How loud the birds sounded in the clear air. How they chirped and twittered. How sweet the smell of the flowers, and how bright the sun.
“Oh, there’s the little red hen!” she cried. “But she has lost her chickens. Every one is gone.”
There was the little hen, sitting on the ground, near the barn door.
Just then Mr. Alder came out with a pail of milk.
“Oh, Mr. Alder, where have all the chickens gone?” cried Clematis.
He laughed. “Dear me,” he said. “I don’t see them anywhere, do you?”
“No, but they were all here last night.”
“I wonder if the rats caught them.” Mr. Alder looked very sad.