"Of course we are," answered the Weathercock. "Didn't you see the wheels on the bottom of the Ark yesterday?"
"So I did," admitted Marjorie. "I'd forgotten all about them."
"Well, how did you like my poetry? You see, I make up a new verse every morning, so as to be sure to wake you up."
"I think you are a great poet," answered the little girl.
The Weathercock got very red in the gills. I guess that's the only way he could blush.
So let the rain or sunshine come,
Across the land, we'll swiftly hum,
We are prepared for rain or shine,
For dusty road or foamy brine.
"Hurrah!" shouted the Elephant from down below. "Bravo, Sir Chanticleer!"
"You'll have to excuse me now," said Marjorie to the Weathercock, "for I must pull on my shoes and stockings and brush my hair. You don't have to bother about such things, you know. That's one advantage of being a weathercock."
After breakfast, as they all sat in the cabin, Capt. Noah remarked: "I'm getting a trifle worried. You see, I can't tell by the barometer whether the Ark is floating or wheeling. Now, that is rather important. If we keep on in this way I shall have to get a speedometer. It wouldn't be very nice to be arrested for breaking the speed laws and be locked up in jail."
Mrs. Noah turned pale and the Weathercock shifted about uneasily on the top of the flagpole. "No, indeed," he said, "I don't want to be a jailbird."