I ran in to Great-Aunt. “Oh, Great-Aunt, there is a hen that is sick and that keeps spinning round and round and round! What shall we do with it?”
“Oh, it will have to spin till it stops,” said Great-Aunt.
There was no use. Nobody here at the Parsonage understood about hens. When I went away no one would care about that poor sick thing, or do anything for it, I was sure.
I went out to the barn to speak to the milkmaid.
“Dear Hedvig, if you can’t cure that Cochin China hen, you must chop its head off, the minute I have gone.”
“Oh, no! I’d never dare do that unless Mistress herself said so.”
“Please, please do, Hedvig. No one will take any care of it when I’m not here.”
“But you know I don’t dare because of the old lady.” That was Great-Aunt.
“Oh, yes, Hedvig. You are so kind. Please do it and quickly, too.” I felt as if I ought to say this even if I didn’t believe she would do what I told her to do. The poor sick hen!