Chickens of all sorts and sizes came sweeping down in flocks till the ground all around the bench was covered, and the first thing she knew, one or two hopped up on the end of the bench and jumped into Phronsie’s pink calico gown to get nearer to the old tin pan. When the other chickens saw that, a whole fluffy crowd followed.
Phronsie gave a little squeal and threw herself over into Mrs. Brown’s arms, thereby upsetting a couple of the more adventurous ones.
“There—there,” chuckled the farmer’s wife, “didn’t I tell you you’d have your lap full. Well, see here,” to the chickens, and she pushed off the biggest ones, “’tain’t polite to scrouge so—you’ll all get your turn. Now, Phronsie, let that littlest one eat out o’ your hand.”
Mrs. Brown shook some grain into the little calico gown. A small fluffy ball plumped right into the middle of it, holding on by its little claws to Phronsie’s small thumb.
Phronsie squealed in delight. And the little yellow chick, not caring in the least how much any one squealed as long as there was this sweet grain, hung on to Phronsie’s thumb and pecked away, the farmer’s wife scaring the other chickens off.
It seemed impossible for Phronsie to tear herself away from this enchanting party in the old chicken yard. The farmer’s wife might talk and talk over the charms of the pigs who were supposed to be waiting to be visited. Phronsie had no eyes nor ears for anything but the “chickies” and their soft little “peep—peep.”
At last Mrs. Brown said, “They’ll be sick if they eat any more,” and getting up from the bench, she went off, tin pan and all. And Phronsie, slipping down to the ground beneath, sat down in the by-no-means-clean spot, and put her arms around the fluffy bunch that swarmed into her lap.
“Gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Brown, coming back, having disposed of the tin pan. “I don’t know what your ma’ll think! My senses! just look at your dress, child!”
Phronsie huddled up two of the chickens in the front breadth of her pink calico gown, as Mrs. Brown got her up to her feet.
So they didn’t get to the pigs after all, Phronsie having to be led back to the farm house for the messy little back breadth of her gown to be washed clean. And of course, while that was being done, she must have on a calico wrapper of Mrs. Brown’s and sit in the rocking chair by the kitchen window. But she didn’t care, for the farmer’s wife let her bring in one of the little yellow fluffy chickens.