The handsome white rooster, however, appeared quite as happy as usual, and that is saying a great deal, for a jollier, better-natured old fellow than he never graced a farmyard. Sunshine, rain, or snow were all the same to him, and he crowed quite as lustily in stormy weather as in fair.
“Well,” he said, laughing heartily, as his bright eyes glanced about the henhouse, “you all seem to be having a fit of the dumps.”
Nobody answered the white rooster, but a faint cluck or two came from some hens who immediately put their heads back under their wings, as if ashamed of having spoken at all.
This was quite too much for the white rooster, who, standing first on one yellow foot and then on the other, said: “Well, we are a lively set! Anyone would think, to look in here, that we were surrounded by a band of hungry foxes.”
Just then a daring little white bantam rooster hopped down from his perch, and, strutting pompously over to the big rooster, created quite a stir among the feathered folk by saying,
“We’re all lively enough when our crops are full, but when we’re starving the wonder is that we can hold our heads up at all. If I ever see that farmer’s boy again, I’ll—I’ll peck his foot!”
“You won’t see him until he feeds us,” said the white rooster, “and then I think you will peck his corn.”
“Oh, oh!” moaned the brown hen, “don’t mention a peck of corn.”
“Madam,” remarked the white rooster, bowing politely, “your trouble is my own—that is, I’m hungry, too. But we might be worse off; we might be on our way to market in a box. Then, too, suppose we haven’t had enough to eat to-day, at least we have room enough to stretch our wings and a good, quiet place to sleep in.”
“Why, that is a fact,” answered the brown hen; and all the feathered family—the smallest chickens included—stretched their wings, preened their feathers, and looked a trifle more animated.