Tales of a Poultry Farm

by Clara Dillingham Pierson

You see the brothers knew that it would never do to ask their sister to run away with them at first, for she would have said “No,” and run off to tell the Barred Plymouth Rock Hen, and that would have spoiled all their naughty fun.

The three little White Plymouth Rocks put down their heads and scurried along as fast as they could toward the road. Older Brother planned it so that the fence should hide them from their mother as they ran, but he said nothing of this to Little Sister, for she was not used to being naughty, and he knew that he would have to go about it very carefully to get her to run away. When they reached the road they saw the Chickens on the other side, but they were well within their own farm-yard.

“Oh, isn’t that too bad!” exclaimed Little Sister. “Now you can’t ask them what you wanted to.”

“We might run over and speak to them about it now,” said Younger Brother. “Mother won’t care. After we have come so far to see them, it seems too bad to miss our chance. Come on and we can be across before that team gets here.” Both the brothers put down their heads and ran as fast as they could, and Little Sister followed after them. When they were on the other side she began to cry and wanted to go back.

“I n-n-never did such a thing in all my l-l-life,” she sobbed, “and I know our mother won’t like it. Let’s go right back.”

“Oh, don’t act like a Gosling,” said Older Brother. “You’re over here now and you might as well have a good time. What if our mother does scold when we get back? She never wants us to have a bit of fun, and we’re just as safe here as we were at home.”

Little Sister did not feel at all happy, still, you know how hard it is to stop being naughty when you have once begun, and she found it hard. She would gladly have returned at once if her brothers had been willing to go with her, but when she found that they were going to stay, she stayed with them. The Chickens whom they were visiting were very jolly and full of fun, although they were of common families and had not been carefully brought up. They did many things which the little White Plymouth Rocks had never been allowed to do, and in a short time the visitors were doing just the same as they.

These Chickens even made fun of each other when they had accidents, and Little Sister heard them laughing at three or four who were acting as though they were sick and opening their bills very wide. “What is the matter with those Chickens?” she asked.

“Oh, they have the gapes,” answered one of the Chickens who lived there, and then he began speaking of something else.

It is very sad to have to tell such a thing, but the truth is that the three White Plymouth Rock Chickens did not return to their home until nearly roosting-time. Even Little Sister pecked and squabbled and acted like the rest. They walked up the tongue of a hay wagon that stood in the yard, and scrambled and fluttered until they were on the edge of the rack. “Dare you to fly down into the old hen-yard,” said one of the Chickens who lived on the place. “We used to live in there until a few days ago, and then the Farmer turned us out and shut the gate after us.”