“Fine idea!” agreed Feather Flop, scratching again. “Won’t it be splendid when the things grow!”
“And won’t it be a perfectly lovely surprise!” cried Mary Frances.
“I won’t tell anybody,” volunteered Feather Flop. “It will be grand to have a real secret with someone.”
“Oh, thank you, good old Feather Flop,” answered Mary Frances. “Are you certain you don’t want me to help spade up the garden?”
“Claws were made before spades,” said Feather Flop, scratching away. “I’d like to do this myself, please. Come bright and early in the morning when you hear me crow.”
VERY early in the morning Mary Frances awoke and listened a long time for Feather Flop’s signal, but not a sound was to be heard except the faint crowing of a distant rooster at the far end of the village.
“I expect he crowed before I was awake,” concluded Mary Frances, as she quickly dressed and went down-stairs on tiptoe.
The sun was just getting up as she ran out into the garden.
“Hello, Feather Flop,” she called softly as she hurried along, but there was not a sight or sound of Mr. Rooster.
“Mercy,” she thought, “I hope nothing’s happened to him. Where can he be? Oh, see, he’s dug—let me count,” (counting them off) “eighteen holes! My, it must have tired him out.”
“But where can he be?” she went on, and called again and again as loudly as she dared:
“Oh, maybe he’s in my play house!” she suddenly thought and ran to look. And there he was—where do you think? Fast asleep in one of the doll’s beds with the covers tucked close up under his bill!
“Well, you’re a funny kind of a gardener,” laughed Mary Frances as soon as she recovered from her astonishment. “Here it is long past crowing time.”
Feather Flop turned over. Then he began to mutter sleepily:
“I don’t care what people say, I shan’t get up and crow to-day; I’ve never laid in bed—so then! I shall not crow till half-past ten—to-night!”
“Oh, Feather Flop!” cried Mary Frances. “Oh, Feather Flop! How you disappoint me! Why, I’ve gotten up early because you promised to help in my garden! Come, get up!” going toward the bed.
“Excuse me!” exclaimed Feather Flop, hopping out of bed. “Excuse my bad manners, dear Miss,” and away he ran out the door and into the garden before Mary Frances could catch up.