At the other side of the
yard he saw a red hen in a coop. A lot of very young chickens, little
yellow balls of down, were running about outside the coop. Young Grumpy
strolled over. The chickens did not concern him in the least. He didn't
know what they were, and, as no flesh was in his eyes good to eat, he
didn't care. But he hoped they might have such a thing as a carrot about
them."
"Oh-h-h! What would _they_ have a carrot for?" protested the Babe.
Uncle Andy scorned to notice this remark. "When Young Grumpy approached
the coop," he continued, "the red hen squawked frantically, and the
chickens all ran in under her wings. Young Grumpy eyed her with
curiosity for a moment, as she screamed at him with open beak and ruffled
up all her feathers. But in the coop was a big slice of turnip, at which
she had been pecking. He knew at once this would be good, perhaps as
good as a carrot, and he flattened himself against the bars trying to get
in at it.
"The next moment he got a great surprise. The red hen hurled herself at
him with such violence that, although the bars protected him, he was
almost knocked over. He received a smart jab from her beak, and her
bristling feathers came through the bars in a fashion that rather took
away his breath.
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