Tom, who had expected a long lecture, was glad, indeed, to escape so easily, and, putting the book into his pocket, he walked out of the house, and started toward the barn, where he sat down to think over his day’s experience, and to await the arrival of the fisher-boy. The latter came at length, with his wagon loaded with eggs. A place was cleared for them in one end of the oat-bin, and there they were packed away to remain until the market prices should rise. Bob then returned to the store, and, in due time, came back with the butter and the game chickens. The butter was also packed away in the oat-bin, the cover of which was closed and fastened.
“There!” exclaimed Tom, “that’s all right. I haven’t lost my money yet. Eggs and butter will be higher next winter, and then I’ll show you a trick or two in speculating. Now, the next thing is to drive all father’s chickens into the hen-house, and shut them up. I want to let my game rooster out.”
But driving the chickens into the hen-house was a much harder task than the boys had anticipated. Having no desire to be shut up before night, they found secure retreats under the barn; and, after half an hour’s chase, during which only one solitary hen was captured, Tom’s patience was exhausted.
“Never mind them, Bob!” he exclaimed, panting hard after his long run. “We have tried to put them out of harm’s way, and now they must look out for themselves. If they knew what they were about, they would get into that hen-house as soon as possible. Now, Bob,” he continued, as he stood with a hammer in his hand ready to knock the bars off the box in which the rooster was confined, “we must name this fellow before we let him out. What shall we call him?”
Bob proposed several names which he thought would be appropriated, but they did not suit Tom, who finally said he wanted to call his chicken after some great general.
“Name him Washington, then,” said the fisher-boy.
“That’s the name!” exclaimed Tom. “Come out here, General Washington,” and, with a few blows of the hammer, he knocked off the bars, when out walked the rooster and the two hens.
They seemed to be well satisfied with their new quarters; and the rooster, as if to carry out the designs of his master, flapped his wings and crowed, to announce to all the fowls within hearing that he had come there to take possession.
He had a pair of good lungs, and Tom fully expected that his crowing would be sufficient to frighten every thing in the yard into submission, and that the General would be permitted to assume the honors of champion without a single battle. But the old residents of the barn-yard had no intention of allowing the new-comer to lord it over them, for scarcely had Washington ceased his crowing, when an answer came from under the barn, and, the next moment, out popped a very small specimen of a bantam, bristling all over with rage and excitement.
“Drive him back, Bob!” shouted Tom; “drive him back! He’s too small! He’ll certainly get hurt!”