"Please, sir, I'm secretary of the Young Peepers' League."
What!—he, the weak and sinful wretch, the....
"Please say you will!" pleaded the cockerel. "It'll mean so much to us. You know, we all look up to you so!"
A feeling of balm stole into Eustace's breast.
"I will," he answered humbly, strumming the little chap's comb.
The young fowl thanked him, and then skipped away happily.
"Bless his little giblets!" sighed Eustace.
From that moment everything seemed more cheerful. The ground looked weedier, the pond looked greener, the watering trough looked leakier, the sleepy hollows of the dirt-bathing resort looked dustier, and the sky more like rain.