“Did you ever see the likes of that old Speckle, now?” cried Grannie Malone. She ran for the broom. “Sure she must be after thinking I was lonesome for a bit of company! Do you think I’d be wanting you at all, you silly, when I have the Twins by me?” she said to the hen. She shook the broom at her, but old Speckle
wasn’t a bit afraid of Grannie; she didn’t move.
Then Grannie Malone put the broom under her and tried to lift her from her perch, but old Speckle had made up her mind to stay. So she flew across to another rafter, and lit on Grannie Malone’s black coat that she wore to Mass on Sundays. She thought it a pleasant warm place and sat down again.
“Bad luck to you for an ill-favoured old thief!” screamed Grannie. “Get off my Sunday cloak with your muddy feet! It’s ruined you’ll have me entirely!”
She shook the cloak. Then old Speckle, squawking all the way, flew over to Grannie’s bed! She ran the whole length of it. She left a little path clear across the patchwork quilt. Larry stood in one corner of the room waving his arms. Eileen was flapping her apron in another, while Grannie Malone chased old Speckle with the broom. At last, with a final squawk, she flew out of the door, and ran round to the shelter where the other hens were, and went in as if she thought home was the best place for a hen after all. Larry shut her in.
As soon as the hen was out of the house, Eileen screamed, “I smell something burning!”
“’Tis the cakeen,” cried Grannie.
She and Eileen flew to the fireplace. Eileen got there first. She knocked the cover off the little kettle with the tongs, and out flew a cloud of smoke.