“Now where’s the master gone off this morning,” thought she. “Farmer Peckett. I know no Farmer Peckett. It’s very queer his leaving us all alone. Something might go wrong while he’s away, and he can see to things a lot better than me. Just look! There’s that calf a limping among the lettuces. And that knock-kneed hen with her chirrupy brood scratching the carrots up as if she was seeking to-morrow. I do believe those bees mean to swarm, and no master here. I’ve watched him swarm ’em many a time, but I couldn’t manage it.”
Hen with her Chirrupy Brood.
“If you’re not off about your business, you old gimmer,” as a long-nosed sheep looked through the hedge—“I’ll, I’ll— Now what do you want?” called out Sally, turning from the patient ewe to a fat, wheezy donkey coming up the garden path. “What brings you here this morning, Neddy?”
“He-haw!” said Neddy, rolling his tongue round and round, and giving a three-cornered look out of his left eye. “Thought I’d just see how you were getting on, Sal! But you do look prime.”
“Just be off about your business.”
“Beg your pardon, my lady. But if you have no objections I’ll just march myself off into the stable. I know Farmer Dobbin supplies you with good fodder.” And away went Neddy “he-hawing” for all he was worth, and frightening the chicks out of their poor little senses.
While Sally was looking after him, and marvelling at his cool impertinence, up came a tinker. “Pans to mend, kettles to mend, scraps of old iron,” he cried.
“What, Sally!” he called out cheerfully to her.
“He-haw!” bellowed Neddy.