Among the Night People | Page 3

stolen nest under the straw-stack.
When night came, eleven little Black Spanish Chickens did not know
what to do. They went to look for their old coop, but that had been

given to another Hen and her family. They walked around looking very
small and lonely, and wished they had minded the Speckled Hen and
made her love them more. At last they found an old potato-crate which
reminded them of a coop and so seemed rather homelike. It stood, top
down, upon the ground and they were too big to crawl through its
barred sides, so they did the best they could and huddled together on
top of it. If there had not been a stone-heap near, they could not have
done that, for their wing-feathers were not yet large enough to help
them flutter. The bravest Chicken went first, picking his way from
stone to stone until he reached the highest one, balancing himself
awhile on that, stretching his neck toward the potato-crate, looking at it
as though he were about to jump, and then seeming to change his mind
and decide not to do so after all.
The Chickens on the ground said he was afraid, and he said he wasn't
any more afraid than they were. Then, after a while, he did jump, a
queer, floppy, squawky kind of jump, but it landed him where he
wanted to be. After that it was his turn to laugh at the others while they
stood teetering uncertainly on the top stone. They were very lonely
without the Speckled Hen, and each Chicken wanted to be in the
middle of the group to keep him warm on all sides.
Somebody laughed at the most mischievous Chicken and told him he
could stand on the potato-crate's back without being scolded, and he
pouted his bill and said: "Much fun that would be! All I cared about
standing on the Speckled Hen's back was to make her scold!" It is very
shocking that he should say such things, but he did say exactly that.
They slept safely that night, and only awakened when the Cocks
crowed a little while after midnight. After that they slept until sunrise,
and when the Shanghais and Dorkings came down from the apple-tree
where they had been roosting, the Black Spanish Chickens stirred and
cheeped, and looked at their feathers to see how much they had grown
during the night. Then they pushed and squabbled for their breakfast.
Every night they came back to sleep on the potato-crate. At last they
were able to spring up into their places without standing on the
stone-pile, and that was a great day. They talked about it long after they

should have been asleep, and were still chattering when the Shanghai
Cock spoke: "If you Black Spanish Chickens don't keep still and let us
sleep," said he, "some Owl or Weasel will come for you, and I shall be
glad to have him!"
That scared the Chickens and they were very quiet. It made the Black
Spanish Hen uneasy though, and she whispered to the Black Spanish
Cock and wouldn't let him sleep until he had promised to fight anybody
who might try to carry one of the Chickens away from the potato-crate.
The next night first one Chicken and then another kept tumbling off the
potato-crate. They lost their patience and said such things as these to
each other:
"You pushed me! You know you did!"
"Well, he pushed me!"
"Didn't either!"
"Did too!"
"Well, I couldn't help it if I did!"
The Shanghai Cock became exceedingly cross because they made so
much noise, and even the Black Spanish Cock lost his patience. "You
may be my children," said he, "but you do not take your manners from
me. Is there no other place on this farm where you can sleep excepting
that old crate?"
"We want to sleep here," answered the Chicken on the ground. "There
is plenty of room if those fellows wouldn't push." Then he flew up and
clung and pushed until some other Chicken tumbled off.
"Well!" said the Black Spanish Cock. And he would have said much
more if the Black Spanish Hen had not fluttered down from the
apple-tree to see what was the matter. When he saw the expression of
her eyes he decided to go back to his perch.

"There is not room for you all," said the Black Spanish Hen. "One must
sleep somewhere else."
"There isÊ room," said the Chickens, contradicting her. "We have
always roosted on here."
"There is notÊ room," said the Black Spanish Hen once more. "How do
your feathers grow?"
"Finely," said they.
"And your feet?"
"They are getting very big," was the answer.
"Do you think the Speckled Hen could cover you all with her wings