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But the dairymaid screamed, “Good gracious! where did that nasty strange dog come from? Leave him alone, Miss Daisy, or he’ll bite your nose off.”

“He won’t!” said Daisy indignantly. “He’s the dog Daddy promised me;” and the farmer coming out at that minute, she ran up to him crying, “Daddy! Isn’t this my dog?”

“Bless the child, no!” said the farmer; “it’s a nice little pup I’m going to give thee. Where did that dirty old brute come from?”

“He would wash,” said little Daisy, holding very fast to Flaps’ coat.

“Fine washing too!” said the dairymaid, “And his hair’s all lugs.”

“I could comb them,” said Daisy.

“He’s no but got one eye,” said the swineherd. “Haw! haw! haw!”

“He sees me with the other,” said Daisy. “He’s looking up at me now.”

“And one of his ears gone!” cried the dairy lass. “He! he! he!”

“Perhaps I could make him a cap,” said Daisy, “as I did when my doll lost her wig. It had pink ribbons and looked very nice.”

“Why, he’s lame of a leg,” guffawed the two farming-men. “See, missy, he hirples on three.”

“I can’t run very fast,” said Daisy, “and when I’m old enough to, perhaps his leg will be well.”

“Why, you don’t want this old thing for a play-fellow, child?” said the farmer.

“I do! I do!” wept Daisy.

“But why, in the name of whims and whamsies?”

“Because I love him,” said Daisy.

When it comes to this with the heart, argument is wasted on the head; but the farmer-went on: “Why he’s neither useful nor ornamental. He’s been a good dog in his day, I dare say; but now–“

At this moment Flaps threw his head up in the air and sniffed, and his one eye glared, and he set his teeth and growled.

He smelt the gipsy, and the gipsy’s black pipe, and every hair stood on end with rage.

“The dog’s mad!” cried the swineherd, seizing a pitchfork.

“You’re a fool,” said the farmer (who wasn’t). “There’s some one behind that haystack, and the old watch-dog’s back is up. See! there he runs; and as I’m a sinner, it’s that black rascal who was loitering round, the day my ricks were fired, and you lads let him slip. Off after him, for I fancy I see smoke.” And the farmer flew to his haystacks.

Hungry and tired as he was, Flaps would have pursued his old enemy, but Daisy would not let him go. She took him by the ear and led him indoors to breakfast instead. She had a large basin of bread-and-milk, and she divided this into two portions, and gave one to Flaps and kept the other for herself. And as she says she loves Flaps, I leave you to guess who got most bread-and-milk.

That was how the gipsy came to live for a time in the county gaol, where he made mouse-traps rather nicely for the good of the rate-payers.

And that was how Flaps, who had cared so well for others, was well cared for himself, and lived happily to the end of his days.

* * * * *

“Why, it’s in print!” said Father Cock; “and I said as plain as any cock could crow, that it was a secret. Now, who let it out?”

“Don’t talk to me about secrets,” said the fair foreigner; “I never trouble my head about such things.”

“Some people are very fond of drawing attention to their heads,” said the common hen; “and if other people didn’t think more of a great unnatural-looking chignon than of all the domestic virtues put together, they might have their confidences respected.”

“I’s all very well,” said Father Cock, “but you’re all alike. There’s not a hen can know a secret without going and telling it.”

“Well, come!” said a little Bantam hen, who had newly arrived; “whichever hen told it, the cock must have told it first.”

“What’s that ridiculous nonsense your talking?” cried the cock; and he ran at her and pecked her well with his beak.

“Oh! oh! oh!” cried the Bantam.

Dab, dab, dab, pecked the cock.

“Now! has anybody else got anything to say on the subject?”

But nobody had. So he flew up on to the wall, and cried “Cock-a-doodle-doo!”