Tales of a Poultry Farm

by Clara Dillingham Pierson

There is no telling how much more the dolls might have learned about their new neighbors, if the Baby and the mother of the Little Girls had not come out just then. The Baby was put in his chair in the big box and given a cracker to eat, while the Little Girls stood outside and called to their company.

“Come, Chick, Chick, Chick!” they called. “Come, Chick, Chick, Chick!”

From far and near the Hens came running, with lowered heads and hurrying feet, to seize the food which they knew would be given them after that call. The Shanghai Cock and the White Cock followed more slowly, as was their habit. The Gander waddled gravely along from the farthest corner of the pasture in which the poultry-house stood, with his wife and the other Geese following solemnly behind him. The Turkeys, all together once more since the children were so large, came with rather more haste from the roadside, where they had been hunting acorns. And down by the river the Ducks and their children could be seen scrambling up onto the bank and shaking themselves. All were glad enough to come to the party as soon as they were sure it was time, but whether they had understood the invitations which had been pinned around for them to read—well, who can tell about that?

The Man came from the barn to see the fun, and he and the Woman set the two birthday cakes from her basket onto the table. After she had done that, she had to pay more attention to the Baby, who kept trying to reach them with his fat little hands. The Man handed a pan of corn to each of the Little Girls. “Wait until the Ducks get here,” he said. “They must have their share and there is plenty of time.”

The brown-haired Little Girl felt that those who were waiting should be amused in some way, so she began to talk to them. “This is our birthday party,” she said, “and we are very glad you didn’t have the measles, so you could come. A party is something to eat when you are dressed up and have company. We have some corn for you because you like that best, but if you are good and polite you may have some of our cake, too.”

By this time the Ducks were there, and each Little Girl began flinging handfuls of corn out to the poultry. Some of it was thrown into the yards where the White Plymouth Rocks were kept, and the rest fell between the yards and the big box. One cannot say very much for the manners of the company, yet it is quite certain that they had a good time. When they had settled down to eating quietly, the Man lighted the candles on the birthday cakes and the Woman passed a plate of bread and butter sandwiches to the three happy children around the table. The dolls did not seem to be hungry, but they must have enjoyed it very much, for they smiled all the time, even when nobody was speaking to them.

The Man and the Woman sat on a couple of old Chicken-coops by the open side of the big box, and said what a fine day it was, and how good everything tasted, and what a very large party it was. The Baby laughed a great deal and said “Pitty! Pitty!” every time a soft breeze made the candle-flames dip and waver. The most exciting time came when the candles burned low and had to be blown out by the Little Girls, with the Baby helping.

Then the cakes were cut, and the Man and the Woman and the three children in the box all had a share. The dolls were not forgotten, but even after they had been fed there was much remaining. The Barred Plymouth Rock Hen stepped daintily up to the box and stood with her left foot lifted.

“My friend, the Hen, is hinting that we should pass the cake to the other guests,” said the Man, “and I think we should.”