And Mark added, "I will continue to act as watchman." And he went up to the top of the tree as Flaps trotted off down the muddy road.
All that evening and far into the night it rained and rained, and the fowls cuddled close to each other to keep warm, and Flaps did not return. In the small hours of the morning the rain ceased, and the rain-clouds drifted away, and the night-sky faded and faded till it was dawn.
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" said Mark, and all the fowls woke up.
"What do you see and hear from the tree-top, dear Mark?" said they. "Is Flaps coming?"
"Not a thing can I see
From the top of the tree,
But a long, winding lane
That is sloppy with rain;"
replied Mark. And the fowls huddled together again, and put their heads back under their wings.
Paler and paler grew the grey sky, and at last it was broken with golden bars, and at the first red streak that caught fire behind them, Mark crowed louder than before, and all the hens of Hencastle roused up for good.
"What do you see and hear from the tree-top, dear Mark?" they inquired. "Is Flaps coming?"
"Not a sound do I hear,
And I very much fear
That Flaps, out of spite,
Has deserted us quite;"
replied Mark. And the fowls said nothing, for they were by no means at ease in their consciences.