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The Tale of Henrietta Hen, a short story by Arthur Scott Bailey |
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VIII - WHY THE ROOSTER CROWED |
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_ VIII - WHY THE ROOSTER CROWED Henrietta Hen had commanded the Rooster to wait until daylight before he began to crow. He saw that she had made up her mind that he must obey her. But he knew he couldn't. And he always took great pains to be polite to the ladies. It was a wonder the Rooster didn't turn red in the face. He had never found himself in such a corner before. "You don't understand," he blurted. "I'd be delighted to oblige you, but if I didn't crow until after the sun rose I'd never crow again." "We could stand that," was Henrietta Hen's grim reply. "Perhaps!" he admitted--for she made him feel strangely humble. "But could you stand it if the night lasted forever?" "You're talking nonsense now," she declared. "You don't understand," he told her again. "And I must say I'm surprised, madam, that you didn't know it was I that waked the sun up every morning. That's why I crow so early." Henrietta Hen was so astonished that she didn't know what to say. She thought deeply for a time--or as deeply as she could. "Have you not noticed," the Rooster inquired, "that the sun never rises until I've crowed loudly a good many times?" "No! No--I haven't," Henrietta murmured. "But now that you speak of it, I see that it's so." "Exactly!" he said. "And often, madam, I have to crow a long time before he peeps over Blue Mountain. It's lucky I have a good, strong voice," the Rooster, added with a smirk, for he was feeling more at his ease. "If I had a thin, squeaky crow such as those worthless cockerels have, Farmer Green would have had to do many a day's work in the dark." "Goodness!" Henrietta Hen gasped. "Do crow your loudest the moment you wake up, Mr. Rooster! Do make all the noise you can!" And he promised faithfully that he would. Henrietta left him then. Somehow she couldn't get their talk out of her mind. And soon she had an unhappy thought. What if anything should happen to the Rooster's voice? The moment that question popped into her head, Henrietta Hen hurried back to the Rooster. "Do be careful!" she besought him. "Don't get your feet wet! For if you caught cold you might be so hoarse that you couldn't speak above a whisper." The Rooster thanked her politely for thinking of his health. "I always take good care of myself," he assured her. "It looks like rain this minute," she said as she cast an anxious glance at the sky. "Hadn't you better run into the barn?" He thought otherwise--and said as much. "You ought to wear rubbers every day," she chided him, as she went away again. Soon Henrietta returned once more to urge the Rooster to carry an umbrella. And it wasn't long after that when she came bustling up to him and informed him that a warm muffler about his throat wouldn't be amiss. There seemed to be no end to her suggestions. And though at first the Rooster had liked to hear them (without having any idea of following them) after a time Henrietta's attentions began to annoy him. "Great cracked corn!" he exclaimed. "This Henrietta Hen is getting to be a pest." _ |
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