Chicken Little was too shaky to answer with anything but a smile.
Mrs. Benton refreshed them with milk and cookies and after the children had recovered from their fright, Mr. Benton drove them home.
Frank came to lift Jilly from the buggy and Mr. Benton related their adventure with a relish.
26“Clean grit, that sister of yours!” he ended. “She never even let go of that plaguey dog. The tears was a streamin’ down her face and I low she’d pray one minute and let out a yell at them blasted steers the next.”
The tears stood in Frank’s eyes as he hugged both Jane and Jilly close after Mr. Benton drove away.
“I’ll never forget this, little sister.”
“Why, Frank, it was the only thing I could do. Marian trusted Jilly to me and I couldn’t let poor little Huz be killed!”
Huz evidently approved this last sentiment, for he gambolled around the group, doing his doggish best to please.
Chicken Little’s modesty, however, was destined to be short-lived. By the time her mother and Marian and Ernest had all praised and made much of her exploit, she felt herself a real heroine. She was a natural-born dreamer, and she spent the remainder of the day in misty visions of wondrous adventures in which she always played the leading part.
