They had been there for some time, when the sister said, “Just see what lots of good, clean food that Hen and her Chickens have. Don’t you wish you had some of it?”
“Um-hum!” answered the brother. “What a pretty yellow it is. I just know it is good!”
Neither of them spoke again for a long time. Indeed, the brother had begun to settle his head down on his shoulders and slide the thin lids over his eyes, when his sister said, “If you were a Sparrow, you’d get some.”
“Well, I’m not a Sparrow,” he answered, “and so I shall have to go without.”
He was almost cross to his dear little sister, but perhaps one could partly excuse him. He saw that there was much more than the Chickens could eat, and that it would lie there spread out on the board until they had spoiled it all by trampling it with muddy feet. Now it was lovely, clean, sweet corn-meal mush. Besides, he was becoming dreadfully hungry. It was fully ten minutes, you know, since he had been fed anything.
The little sister kept still for a while. Her mother had taught her that it does not always pay to talk too much. At last she asked, “Do you suppose those tiny bits of Chickens know the difference between a Sparrow and a Robin?”
Her brother opened his eyes very wide, and stretched his head up so that one could see the black and white feathers under his bill. He was almost full-grown. “I’ve a good mind to try to fool them,” he said. “You see, the Hen can’t reach the board where the food is.”
“I dare you to!” cried his sister, who really should have been his brother, she was so brave.
“All right,” he answered. “Only you come too.”
“I will,” she said. “But let’s wait until Father and Mother are looking the other way.”