The Little Girls helped to cut it into small pieces, and then the whole family, Baby, and all, stood in the sunshine and threw the fragments to the eager poultry, while the dolls looked on. The Barred Plymouth Rock Hen walked inside the box and picked up the many crumbs around the table, while the other fowls fluttered and ran for the pieces outside. The Black Hen always picked for the largest, and the rest chased her. Their manners were certainly bad, but it was the first birthday party they had ever attended, and perhaps it is not strange that they were excited and greedy.
When the last crumb had been thrown out and not even the Black Hen could find another scrap, the Man and his family turned toward the house. The sun was already low in the sky, and the air grew cooler as night drew near. It reminded the Man that winter was coming. “It has been a happy summer,” he said, “a busy and happy summer. I am strong again, and the work has gone well. I have a fine lot of fowls, and I am fond and proud of them. I think they deserve a party once in a while.”
“It was the very nicest party we ever had,” said the Little Girls. “We ought to invite the poultry every time.”
The Barred Plymouth Rock Hen murmured softly as she walked along behind them.
“She thinks so too,” said the Man.
