The hatchet gleamed aloft. He turned away and closed his eyes. The sound of the blow went through him like a spit. Sick at heart, he staggered away, hardly aware that he was back in the barnyard.
"The good-to-eat die young!" he cried in anguish.
O the irony of life! Why should she be cut off in her prime, and he, a hardened sinner, be spared? Miserable bird that he was, why should he be left to linger on uselessly in the world?
"Mr. Eustace!" ventured a timid voice.
Looking up, he saw a bright little red-combed cockerel.
"Oh, sir," said the cockerel deferentially, "I've been searching for you everywhere."
His sweet ingenuousness was very appealing.
"You have? Why, what can I do for you?" said Eustace, softened.
"Please, sir, I'm secretary of the Young Peepers' League, and we want to know if you'll be kind enough to give us a talk tomorrow on 'Character Building'".