"Two days after this, the fowls heard Mark, the watchman, crowing away l.u.s.tily from his chimney-pot,

"'What do I see?

Here come the three!

And the black beast they bring Has no tail and no wing.'

"'But,' added the sentinel in less official language, 'he carries a bundle of things that look like little houses made of wire.'

"The gipsy was at once taken up to the loft, and having, luckily, a few sc.r.a.ps of strong-smelling bacon left over from his last night's supper, he struck a light and managed to make a small fire in the long-disused grate with some bits of dry gra.s.s and chips. He then frizzled some bacon and baited his traps, and in less than ten minutes he had filled them all, for the mice had never smelt such a delicious thing as fried bacon before, and besides, they were new to the wiles of man.

"The fowls were wild with delight, and in their thankfulness they bethought them of a special mark of favour, and every hen came clucking up to him and laid an egg at his feet.

"For about a week the gipsy did nothing but catch mice and eat eggs; but all things must have an end, and the bacon ran out, just when the gipsy had come to the conclusion that he was heartily sick of egg-diet. Being a man of action, he put out his hand suddenly and caught the fattest and nicest young chicken within reach, and promptly wrung its neck.

"Oh, what a row there was in the henroost! The c.o.c.ks began to crow loud enough to split their throats, and the hens to fly about and cackle. The man was nearly deafened, and yelled out at the top of his voice, 'What do you expect, you fools? Mice can only be caught with meat, and meat I must and will have too.' He then let them rave on, and quietly and methodically continued to pluck his chicken. When it was ready, he made a fire and began to roast it.

"In the meanwhile, Flaps had heard all the noise and outcry, and as it showed no signs of abating, he thought the man was most likely in mischief, so he went into the castle.

"'Oh! Woe! Misery! Horror! Despair!' cried all the fowls at once as soon as they saw him. 'The murderer has slain young Scratchfoot the c.o.c.k, and is just going to roast him!'

"'You're a dead man,' growled Flaps to the rat-catcher, as soon as he got up to the loft.

"'I'm not so sure of that, my fine cur,' said the man, taking hold of the cudgel he had brought with him, and tucking up his sleeves.

"But the brave old dog sprang at him and bit him so severely that he uttered a savage groan, and dealt Flaps a heavy blow with his cudgel.

This nearly broke the dog's leg and obliged him to relax his hold, on which the gipsy dashed down-stairs and ran away with such speed that Flaps on three legs had no chance of overtaking him.

"'Wait a bit!' cried the man from afar. 'I'll remember you!' And then his retreating figure became smaller and smaller on the heath until at last it disappeared altogether.

"This time the fowls had no heart for a feast. They sat brooding and moping in rows on the rafters, for they began to see very clearly that it was quite hopeless to try and get rid of the mice.

"Poor old Flaps, too, was very ill. A good many days elapsed before he could get about, and for years he walked lame on his injured leg.

"One morning as the fowls were listlessly wandering about, wondering what was to happen next, Mark, the watchman, was heard crowing away in a very excited manner,

"'What do I see?

Twenty and three!'

"'What do you see?' cried they all in a great fright. 'Twenty and three what?'

"'An army of soldiers dressed in smock frocks. They are armed with pitchforks, and the black gipsy is their general.'

"The fowls flew up like a cloud to the roof, and sure enough they saw the rat-catcher coming across the heath with a crowd of villagers towards the castle.

"When they broke the doleful news to Flaps, he said, 'That scoundrel of a man has betrayed our hiding-place, and we must wander forth again. Get ready, and keep up your spirits, and remember that in any case we should not have been able to stay here much longer, on account of the mice.'

"So the hens filled their crops as full as possible, and escaped with Flaps out at the back door.

"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 c.o.c.k, 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 c.o.c.k; 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 c.o.c.ks 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 c.o.c.k 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.

Poor Flaps! Well might he say, "One ear is enough to listen to you with, you pack of ungrateful fools!"

He was beginning to find out that, as a rule, the Helpless have a nice way with them of flinging all their cares upon the Helpful, and reserving their own energies to pick holes in what is done on their behalf; and that they are apt to flourish, in good health and poor spirits, long after such friends as Flaps have been worn out, bit by bit, in their service.

"First an eye, then an ear, then a leg," the old dog growled to himself; "and there's not a fowl with a feather out of him. But I've done my duty, and that's enough."

Matters went from bad to worse. The hens had no corn, and Flaps got no eggs, and the prospect of either home or food seemed very remote. One evening it was very rainy, the fowls roosted in a walnut-tree for shelter, and Flaps fell asleep at the foot of it.

"Could anything be more aggravating than that creature's indifference?"

said Hen No. 2. "Here we sit, wet to the skin, and there he lies asleep!

Dear me! I remember one of my neck feathers got awry once, at dear old Hencastle (the pencilling has been a good deal admired in my time, though I say it that shouldn't), and the Red-haired Gentleman noticed it in a moment. I remember he put his face as close to mine as I am to you, but in the most gentlemanly manner, and murmured so softly,

"'Excuse me--there's just one of those lovely little feathers the least bit in the world--'

"I believe it was actually between his lips, when we were interrupted, and I had to put it tidy myself. But we might all be plucked as bare as poor young Scratchfoot before Flaps would think of smoothing us down.

Just hear how he snores! Ah! it's a trying world, but I never complain."