“You won’t see him until he feeds us,” said the white rooster, “and then I guess you will peck his corn.”

“Oh, oh!” moaned the brown hen.  “Don’t speak of a peck of corn.”

“Madam,” said the white rooster, bowing very low, “your trouble is my own,—­that is, I’m hungry, too.  But we might be worse off.  We might be in a box on our way to market.  It is true that we haven’t had anything to eat to-day, but we at least have room enough to stretch our wings.”

“Why, that is a fact,” clucked the brown hen.  And all the feathered family—­even the smallest chickens—­stretched their wings, and looked a little more cheerful.

“Now, then,” went on the rooster, “suppose we have a little music to cheer us and help pass the hours until roosting time.  Let us all crow.  There, I beg your pardon, ladies; I am sorry you can’t crow.  Let us sing a happy song.  Will you be kind enough to start a merry tune, Mrs. Brown Hen?”

The brown hen shook herself proudly, tossed her head back and began,—­“Ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-ca!” In less than two minutes every one in the henhouse had joined her.  The white rooster was the loudest of all, and the little bantam rooster stretched his neck and did the best he could.

Now, the horses, cows, and sheep were not far away.  They heard the happy voices, and they, too, joined in the grand chorus.  The pigs did their best to sing louder than all the rest.

Higher and higher, stronger and stronger, rose the chorus.  Louder and louder quacked the ducks.  Shriller and shriller squealed the pigs.

They were all so happy that they quite forgot their hunger until the door of the henhouse burst open, and in came three chubby children.  Each was carrying a dish of hot chicken food.

“Don’t stop your music, Mr. Rooster,” said the little girl, who was bundled up until you could scarcely see her dear little face.

[Illustration:  The children arrive with food]

“You see, we were so lonesome that we didn’t know what to do.  We heard you folk singing out here, and we laughed and laughed until we almost cried.  Then we went to tell Jack about you.  He was lonesome, too, for he’s sick with a sore throat, you know.  He said, ’Why, those poor hens!  They haven’t been fed since morning!  Go and feed them.’  And so we came.”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” said the white rooster.  “This comes of making the best of things.  Cock-a-doodle-doo!” And nobody asked him to stop crowing.

—­FRANCES M. FOX.

THE ANIMALS AND THE MIRROR

I

Aunt Susan sent an old-fashioned looking-glass to the barn to be stored in the loft, with other old furniture.  The farm boy stood it on the floor of the barn until he should have time to put it away.  The mirror was broad and long, and it was set in a dark wooden frame.