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“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.”

“I do, though,” said the chief hen. “I’m not one to put up with neglect. Hi, there! are you asleep?” And scratching a bit of the rough bark off the walnut-tree, she let it drop on to Flaps’ nose.

“I’m awake,” said Flaps; “what’s the matter?”

“I never knew any one snore when he was awake before,” said the hen; and all the young cockerels chuckled.

“Well, I believe I was napping,” said Flaps. “Damp weather always makes me sleepy, and I was dreaming of the old farmyard.”

“Poor old farm!” sighed Hen No. 2. “We had board and lodging there, at any rate.”

“And now we’ve neither,” said Hen No. 1. “Mr. Flaps, do you know that we’re wet to the skin, and dying of starvation, whilst you put your nose into your great-coat pocket and go to sleep?”

“You’re right,” said Flaps. “Something must be done this evening. But I see no use in taking the whole community about in the rain. We will send out another expedition.”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” screamed the three wise ones; “that means that we’re to face the storm whilst you have another nap, eh?”

“It seems an odd thing,” said the chief cock, scratching his comb with his claw, “that Flaps never thinks of going himself on these expeditions.”

“You’re right,” said Flaps. “It is an odd thing, for times out of mind I’ve heard our old friend, the farmer, say, ‘If you want a thing done–Go; if not–Send.’ This time I shall go. Cuddle close to each other, and keep up your spirits. I’ll find us a good home yet.”

The fowls were much affected by Flaps’ magnanimity, and with one voice they cried: “Thank you, dear Flaps. Whatever you decide upon will do for us.”

And Mark added, “I will continue to act as watchman.” And he went up to the top of the tree as Flaps trotted off down the muddy road.

All that evening and far into the night it rained and rained, and the fowls cuddled close to each other to keep warm, and Flaps did not return. In the small hours of the morning the rain ceased, and the rain-clouds drifted away, and the night-sky faded and faded till it was dawn.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” said Mark, and all the fowls woke up.

“What do you see and hear from the tree-top, dear Mark?” said they. “Is Flaps coming?”

“Not a thing can I see
From the top of the tree,
But a long, winding lane
That is sloppy with rain;”

replied Mark. And the fowls huddled together again, and put their heads back under their wings.

Paler and paler grew the grey sky, and at last it was broken with golden bars, and at the first red streak that caught fire behind them, Mark crowed louder than before, and all the hens of Hencastle roused up for good.

“What do you see and hear from the tree-top, dear Mark?” they inquired. “Is Flaps coming?”

“Not a sound do I hear,
And I very much fear
That Flaps, out of spite,
Has deserted us quite;”

replied Mark. And the fowls said nothing, for they were by no means at ease in their consciences.

Their delight was proportionably great when, a few minutes later, the sentinel sang out from his post,

“Here comes Flaps, like the mail!
And he’s waving his tail.”

“Well, dear, dear Flaps!” they all cackled as he came trotting up, “where is our new home, and what is it like?”

“Will there be plenty to eat?” asked the cocks with one crow.

“Plenty,” replied Flaps.

“Shall we be safe from mice, owls, wild beasts, and wild men?” cried the hens.