“Cluck, cluck!” said Mother Biddy. “Every chicken of you come in, for it is going to rain, and you’ll get your feathers wet.”
So they ran as fast as they could, and in a few minutes the six little chickens were all cuddled under Mother Biddy’s wing, fast asleep.
“TRADE-LAST”
By Lucy Fitch Perkins
“My frock is green.”
“My frock is blue.”
“You look pretty.”
“So do you.”