“Stop, Joel,” said Polly. “Oh, isn’t it under the shed, Ben?” and she rushed out, dish-cloth in hand, followed by Mrs. Pepper and all the others.
“I don’t believe he’s there,” said Ben, gloomily, and so it proved. Neither there, nor in any other hiding-place, no matter how long and thoroughly they searched, could they see the black chicken. There was the old gray goose as usual, stalking around and stretching her long neck to see everything, while the children flew hither and thither calling the chicken. They searched adjoining meadows, and little David ran down to the brook to see if he had fallen in there.
At last, toward noon, tired and hot, they were obliged to give up all hope. And a most distressed little bunch of children went slowly into the Little Brown House; and oh, dismal enough, a pouring rain set in, splashing the small-paned window as if crying with them.
“Don’t you see you’re making Mamsie feel bad?” whispered Polly, hoarsely, to Joel, and she pointed over to the corner where Mrs. Pepper was trying to sew.
Little David, at that, went behind the door and struggled to keep back the tears. “I can’t help it,” sniffled Joel; “now we can’t,—we can’t,—”
“Be still,” said Polly, pulling his sleeve, and turning her back on the old cupboard, where the flour bag stood up so smartly, all ready in the old yellow bowl. “Oh!” Then she gave a jump into the middle of the floor.
“Oh, what is it?” they all screamed. Little Davie ran out from behind the door to hear.
“Why,” and Polly’s brown eyes grew very big, “oh, let’s have the old gray goose!”
“The old gray goose!” they all echoed, dreadfully disappointed, while Joel cried harder than ever, and little Davie slipped off toward the door again.
“I shouldn’t think you’d say so,” said Ben, in disapproval, and wondering at Polly, for she always helped out in any trouble.