No sooner was he gone than the hens began to scold Twinkle, who backed into a corner as far away from them as his rope would allow.
‘Aren’t you ashamed, you greedy dog, to talk about eating chicken bones? Squawk! Squawk!’ chorused the hens. ‘Right to our faces, too! Squawk! He has no feeling! We will never speak to him again. Never, as long as we live! Squawk! Cluck! Cluck!’
Poor Twinkle’s little snub face was all twisted with worry and fear. Why had he mentioned chicken bones? How frightened he felt at these cross hens! He hoped their box was very strong and would not break.
He longed to talk to Polly about it and to tell her how he felt, but he didn’t dare speak another word. Chicken bones so good and sweet! Chicken bones that he had buried in the garden! To think that they should cause him so much trouble!
The hens were clucking angrily among themselves. Every now and then one of them would suddenly poke her head out between the bars of the box and dart a bitter glance toward Twinkle.
So Twinkle did the best thing he could think of at the moment. He put his head down between his paws and pretended to go to sleep.
At the very next station the hens were taken off the train. They became so excited that they seemed to forget Twinkle and his chicken bones, and they did not even send him a parting angry cluck.
It would not have made any difference if they had, for Twinkle by that time had really fallen asleep. This Polly knew because she heard him give little snores and happy sighs, so Polly, too, dozed off, which is something travelers often do on long journeys.
Polly woke to find the train standing still, and to hear Twinkle, who was being led away, bark again and again,
‘Good-bye, Polly, good-bye! Good-bye!’