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The Hens Of Hencastle
by
“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 cock, 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 cock; and he strutted off to hunt for worms.