Finally they all went out in the sunshine again, the pig and pony following. “Now for the hens,” said Della, and she lifted up her voice, “Biddy, biddy, biddy—chickie, chickie, chickie.”
“Have you chickens?” inquired Mary eagerly. “I haven't seen any yet.”
“Yes, two broods,” said Della, “but the hens stole their nests away, and are pretty shy. However, I think I can get them. You and the boys stand here,” and she went on a little way.
The pony and the pig followed her, but she did not seem to mind them. “Biddy, biddy, biddy,” she called again, and then the hens came running from the meadow, the orchard, and one old hen, with a following of lovely yellow chickens, came out of the barn cellar behind us, and hurried toward Della.
The little girl sat down on the ground, and it was most amusing to see the hens gather round her. Some even got on her lap, and looked in her pockets for the grain that they knew she had. One old thing gave her a loving peck on the neck that made Della squeal.
“What friends!” exclaimed Mary admiringly. “How they love her!”
“She's always fussing round them,” said Timothy, the elder of the two boys, “they ought to like her—Come on, Robert, let's go down to the river and have a swim.”
Mary looked at them curiously. She could have stayed here all day watching the hens. Then she said, “Don't you like animals?”
Timothy looked at Robert, and Robert looked at Timothy, and finally the elder one said, “Yes, but we don't want to live and die with them the way Della does.”
Just then the dinner-horn sounded, and without waiting for the girls, the two boys ran like the wind toward the house.