“When the country-folk got to the house, they found nothing in it but a small heap of corn; so they fell upon the gipsy and half killed him for having brought them on a fool’s errand.  Then they divided what little corn there was left, and went away.

“As to the mice they were left to whistle for their food.

“So ends the tale of the Hens of Hencastle.”

“And a very fine tale too,” said one of the stranger-hens who had been asleep all the time, and woke up with a jump.  “It was deeply interesting.”  The threshers happened to have stopped to rest for a moment, or she would never have woke at all.

“Of course it was!” said the cock, full of dignity; and he shook his feathers straight.

“But what became of the fowls afterwards?” asked one of the common hens.

“I never tell a hen a secret,” said the cock; and he strutted off to hunt for worms.

FLAPS.

A SEQUEL TO “THE HENS OF HENCASTLE.”

And what became of Flaps after they all left Hencastle?  Well, he led his company on and on, but they could find no suitable place to settle in; and when the fowls recovered from their fright, they began to think that they had abandoned the castle too hastily, and to lay the blame on Flaps.

Mark himself said that he might have overestimated the number of the invaders.  There might not have been twenty-three, but really Flaps was in such a hurry for the news, and one must say something when it was one’s duty to make a report.

The three wise cocks objected to speak of themselves or their services, but they had had some experience on behalf of the community in times of danger, and in their opinion there had been a panic, and the hasty action taken by Flaps was injudicious and regrettable.

The oldest hen of Hencastle shook her feathers to show how much Flaps was in the wrong, and then puffed them out to show how much she was in the right; and after clearing her throat almost as if she were going to crow, she observed very shrilly that she “didn’t care who contradicted her when she said that the common sense of the Mother of a Family was enough to tell her that an old dog, who had lost an eye and an ear and a leg, was no fit protector for the feminine and the young and the inexperienced.”

The chief cock was not so free of his opinions as the chief hen, but he grumbled and scolded about everything, by which one may make matters amply unpleasant without committing oneself or incurring responsibility.

Another of the hens made a point of having no opinion.  She said that was her way, she trusted everybody alike and bore her share of suffering, which was seldom small, without a murmur.  But her good wishes were always at any one’s service, and she would say that she sincerely hoped that a sad injustice had not been done to the red-haired gentleman with the singularly agreeable manners, who would have been gatekeeper of Hencastle at this moment if it had not been for Flaps.