"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" said Mark, and all the fowls woke up.
"What do you see and hear from the tree-top, dear Mark?" said they. "Is
Flaps coming?"
"Not a thing can I see
From the top of the tree,
But a long, winding lane
That is sloppy with rain;"
replied Mark. And the fowls huddled together again, and put their heads
back under their wings.
Paler and paler grew the grey sky, and at last it was broken with golden
bars, and at the first red streak that caught fire behind them, Mark
crowed louder than before, and all the hens of Hencastle roused up for
good.
"What do you see and hear from the tree-top, dear Mark?" they inquired.
"Is Flaps coming?"
"Not a sound do I hear,
And I very much fear
That Flaps, out of spite,
Has deserted us quite;"
replied Mark. And the fowls said nothing, for they were by no means at
ease in their consciences.
Their delight was proportionably great when, a few minutes later, the
sentinel sang out from his post,
"Here comes Flaps, like the mail!
And he's waving his tail."
"Well, dear, dear Flaps!" they all cackled as he came trotting up,
"where is our new home, and what is it like?"
"Will there be plenty to eat?" asked the cocks with one crow.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153