Poor Flaps! Well might he say, "One ear is enough to listen to you with,
you pack of ungrateful fools!"
He was beginning to find out that, as a rule, the Helpless have a nice
way with them of flinging all their cares upon the Helpful, and
reserving their own energies to pick holes in what is done on their
behalf; and that they are apt to flourish, in good health and poor
spirits, long after such friends as Flaps have been worn out, bit by
bit, in their service.
"First an eye, then an ear, then a leg," the old dog growled to himself;
"and there's not a fowl with a feather out of him. But I've done my
duty, and that's enough."
Matters went from bad to worse. The hens had no corn, and Flaps got no
eggs, and the prospect of either home or food seemed very remote. One
evening it was very rainy, the fowls roosted in a walnut-tree for
shelter, and Flaps fell asleep at the foot of it.
"Could anything be more aggravating than that creature's indifference?"
said Hen No. 2. "Here we sit, wet to the skin, and there he lies asleep!
Dear me! I remember one of my neck feathers got awry once, at dear old
Hencastle (the pencilling has been a good deal admired in my time,
though I say it that shouldn't), and the Red-haired Gentleman noticed it
in a moment.
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