Transcribed from the 1897 T. Nelson and Sons edition by David Price, email [email protected]. Proofed by Rab Hughes, Carrie A. Fellman and Susan A. Wheeler.
London: T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW. EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK. 1897
Hen that Hatched Ducks 11 The Nutcrackers of Nutcracker Lodge 29 The History of Tip-Top 43 Miss Katy-Did and Miss Cricket 61 Mother Magpie’s Mischief 70 The Squirrels that live in a House 80 Hum, the Son of Buz 93 Our Country Neighbours 106 The Diverting History of Little Whiskey 117
The Brood Hatched 19 Feeding the Fame Robin 59 Erecting the Hen-House 15 The Hen that Hatched Ducks 25 Enemies in Waiting 39 The Nest in the Apple-Tree 47 Tip-Top in bad Company 57 Venturous Squirrels 89
ONCE there was a nice young hen that we will call Mrs. Feathertop. She was a hen of most excellent family, being a direct descendant of the Bolton Grays, and as pretty a young fowl as you could wish to see of a summer’s day. She was, moreover, as fortunately situated in life as it was possible for a hen to be. She was bought by young Master Fred Little John, with four or five family connections of hers, and a lively young cock, who was held to be as brisk a scratcher and as capable a head of a family as any half-dozen sensible hens could desire.
I can’t say that at first Mrs. Feathertop was a very sensible hen. She was very pretty and lively, to be sure, and a great favourite with Master Bolton Gray Cock, on account of her bright eyes, her finely shaded feathers, and certain saucy dashing ways that she had which seemed greatly to take his fancy. But old Mrs. Scratchard, living in the neighbouring yard, assured all the neighbourhood that Gray Cock was a fool for thinking so much of that flighty young thing; _that_ she had not the smallest notion how to get on in life, and thought of nothing in the world but her own pretty feathers. “Wait till she comes to have chickens,” said Mrs. Scratchard; “then you will see. I have brought up ten broods myself—as likely and respectable chickens as ever were a blessing to society—and I think I ought to know a good hatcher and brooder when I see her; and I know _that_ fine piece of trumpery, with her white feathers tipped with gray, never will come down to family life. _She_ scratch for chickens! Bless me, she never did anything in all her days but run round and eat the worms which somebody else scratched up for her.”