“Let’s get the ducks, first,” said Bobby. “That’s a great idea, Meg. Come on, Twaddles, we have to capture the ducks.”
They found the beautiful white birds swimming lazily about the artificial duck pond in the chicken yard, and they didn’t seem to want to 117 be captured at all. The children finally succeeded in driving them, twenty of them, that is, into the tent.
“Somebody will have to stay and see they don’t come out when we get the chickens,” said Meg. “Dot’s too little––she’ll let ’em out. I’ll do it, if you’ll stay when we get the chickens in, and let me capture the turkeys, Bobby.”
Bobby assented, and Meg stayed behind at the tent while Dot, Twaddles and Bobby went after the chickens.
If you have ever tried to drive a hen into a certain place, you will know how very stupid she can be. The children were hot and cross before they had twenty-eight white leghorn hens penned in the tent with the ducks.
“They make an awful lot of noise,” said Bobby nervously. “Jud will hear them.”
“As soon as they find it’s dark they’ll think it’s night,” answered Meg comfortably. “Now I’m going after turkeys.”
But the only turkey she could find was the lame one that lived in the chicken yard and was tame enough to allow herself to be picked up.
“Aren’t they good and quiet?” said Meg with satisfaction, as she poked the patient turkey hen through the tent flaps and heard the soft mutterings of the ducks and hens, who thought it was night and time to go to sleep.