Anybody who has ever kept Hens knows how hard it is to drive them into the poultry-house when they do not wish to go. People often run until they are quite out of breath and red in the face, trying to make even one Hen go where she should. Sometimes they throw stones, and this is very bad for the Hens, for even if they are not hit, they are frightened, and then the eggs which they lay are not so good. Sometimes, too, the people who are trying to drive Hens lose their temper, and this is one of the very worst things that could happen.
The poultry had not paid much attention to the Man when he was learning their language. They were usually too busy talking to each other to listen to what he was saying. Once the Shanghai Cock said what he thought of it, however: “Just hear him!” he had said. “Hear that Man trying to crow! He does it about as well as a Hen would.”
You know a Hen tries to crow once in a while, and then the Cocks all poke fun at her, because she never succeeds well. All this happened before the Man had been long on the farm, and before the Shanghai Cock had learned to like him. The Shanghai Cock would have been very much surprised if anybody had then told him that he would ever be unable to tell the Man’s voice from that of one of his best friends.
Throughout the summer the fowls who had always lived on the farm were allowed to run wherever they wished during the day, and were not driven into the pen at night. There was always some corn scattered in their own yard for them just before roosting-time, and they were glad enough to stroll in and get it. When they finished eating they were sure to find the outer gate closed, and then they went inside the pen to roost. Now, however, the days were growing much shorter and the nights cooler, and a Skunk had begun prowling around after dark. The Man decided that if he wanted to keep his poultry safe, he must have them in the pens quite early and shut all the openings through which a night-hunting animal might enter to catch them. He liked to attend to this before he ate his own supper, and the poultry did not wish to go to roost quite so early. They often talked of it as they ate their supper in the yard.
“I think,” said the Brown Hen, “that something should be done to stop the Man’s driving us into the pen before we are ready to go. It is very annoying.”
“Annoying?” said the White Cock, who was a great friend of hers. “I should say it is annoying! I hadn’t half eaten my supper last night when I heard him saying, ‘Shoo! Shoo!’ and saw him and the Little Girls getting ready to drive us in.”
“Well, you might better eat a little faster the next time,” said the Black Hen. “I saw you fooling around when you might have been eating, and then you grumbled because you hadn’t time to finish your supper.”
“I would rather fool around a little than to choke on a big mouthful, the way you did,” replied the White Cock, who did not often begin a quarrel, but was always ready to keep it up. “I was hungry all night,” he added.
“It is so senseless,” said the Brown Hen. “He might just as well drive us in after we have had time enough for our supper, or even wait until we go in without driving. I have made up my mind not to go to-night until I am ready.”
“What if they try to drive you?” asked the White Cock.