“I’m not much of a story-teller,” said Mr. Rabbit, “and I never set up for one, but I will say that I like the rough-and-tumble tales a great deal better than I do the kind where some great somebody is always coming in with conjurings and other carryings-on. It’s on account of my raising, I reckon.”  
“Well, stories can’t be all alike,” remarked Mrs. Meadows. “You might as well expect a fiddle¹ to play one tune².”
 
“Tell us the kind of story you like best,” said Buster John to Mr. Rabbit.
 
“No, not now,” responded Mr. Rabbit. “I’ll do that some other time. I happened to think just now of a little circumstance that I used to hear mentioned when I was younger.
 
“In the country next door there used to be a great many chickens. Some were of the barnyard breed, some were of the kind they call game, some were black, some were white, some were brown, some were speckled, and some had their feathers curled the wrong way. Among all these there was one whose name, as well as I can remember, was Mrs. Blue Hen.”
 
“Was she really blue?” Sweetest Susan inquired.
 
“Well, not an indigo³ blue,” replied Mr. Rabbit, after reflecting a moment, “nor yet a sky blue. She was just a plain, dull, every-day blue. But, such as she was, she was very fine. She belonged to one of the first families and moved in the very best circles. She was trim-looking, so I’ve heard said, and, as she grew older, came to have a very bad temper, so much so that she used to fly at a hawk⁴ if he came near her premises⁵. Some of her neighbors used to whisper it around that she tried to crow like a rooster, but this was after she had grown old and hard-headed.
 
“When Mrs. Blue Hen was growing up, she was very nice and particular. She couldn’t bear to get water on her feet, and she was always shaking the dust from her clothes. Some said she was finicky, and some said she was nervous. Once, when she fanned out little Billy Bantam, who called on her one day, a great many of her acquaintances said she would never settle down and make a good housekeeper⁶.
 
“But after awhile Mrs. Blue Hen concluded that it was about time for her to have a family of her own, so she went away off from the other chickens and made her a nest in the middle of a thick briar patch. She made her a nest there and laid an egg. It was new and white, and Mrs. Blue Hen was very proud of it. She was so proud, in fact, that, although she had made up her mind to make no fuss over it, she went running and cackling toward the house, just as any common hen would do. She made so much fuss that away down in the branch Mr. Willy Weasel winked⁷ at Miss Mimy Mink⁸.
 
“‘Do you hear that?’ says he.
 
“‘I never heard anything plainer in my life,’ says she.
 
“Mrs. Blue Hen was so proud of her new, white egg that she went back after awhile to look at it. There it was, shining white in the grass. She covered it up and hid it as well as she could, and then she went about getting dinner ready.
 
“The next morning she went to the nest and laid another egg just like the first one. This happened for three mornings; but on the fourth morning, when Mrs. Blue Hen went back, she found four eggs in the nest, and all four appeared to be dingy⁹ and muddy looking. She was very much astonished and alarmed, as well she might be, for here right before her eyes she saw four eggs, when she knew in reason that there should be but three; and not only that, they were all dingy and dirty.
 
“Mrs. Blue Hen was so excited that she took off her bonnet¹⁰ and began to fan herself. Then she wondered whether she had not made a miscount; whether she had not really laid four instead of three eggs. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. She hung her bonnet on a blackberry bush and tried to count off the days on her toes. She began to count,—’One, two, three,’—and she would have stopped there, but she couldn’t. She had four toes on her foot, and she was compelled to count them all. There was a toe on the foot for every egg in the nest.
 
“This caused Mrs. Blue Hen to feel somewhat more comfortable in mind and body, but she was left in such a hysterical¹¹ state that she went off cackling nervously¹², and postponed¹³ laying an egg until late in the afternoon. After that there were five in the nest, and she kept on laying until there were ten altogether. Then Mrs. Blue Hen rumpled¹⁴ up her feathers and got mad with herself, and went to setting. I reckon that’s what you call it. I’ve heard some call it ‘setting’ and others ‘sitting.’ Once, when I was courting, I spoke¹⁵ of a sitting hen, but the young lady said I was too prissy for anything.”
 
“What is prissy?” asked Sweetest Susan.
 
Mr. Rabbit shut his eyes and scratched his ear. Then he shook his head slowly.
 
“It’s nothing but a girl’s word,” remarked Mrs. Meadows by way of explanation. “It means that somebody’s trying hard to show off.”
 
“I reckon that’s so,” said Mr. Rabbit, opening his eyes. He appeared to be much relieved. “Well, Mrs. Blue Hen got mad and went to setting. She was in a snug¹⁶ place and nobody bothered her. It was such a quiet place that she could hear Mr. Willy Weasel and Miss Mimy Mink gossiping in the calamus bushes, and she could hear Mrs. Puddle¹⁷ Duck wading¹⁸ in the branch. One day Mrs. Puddle Duck made so bold as to push her way through the briars and look in upon Mrs. Blue Hen. But her visit was not relished¹⁹. Mrs. Blue Hen rumpled her feathers up and spread out her tail to such a degree and squalled out such a harsh protest that Mrs. Puddle Duck was glad to waddle²⁰ off with whole bones. But when she got back to the branch she spluttered about a good deal, crying out:
 
“‘Aha! aha! quack²¹, quack! Aha! You are there, are you? Aha! you’ll have trouble before you get away. Aha!’
 
“Now the fact was that Mrs. Puddle Duck was the very one that had caused Mrs. Blue Hen all the trouble,” said Mr. Rabbit, nodding his head solemnly. “While wading in the branch, Mrs. Puddle Duck had seen Mrs. Blue Hen going to her nest for three days, slipping and creeping through the weeds and bushes, and she wanted to know what all the slipping and creeping was about. So, on the third day Mrs. Puddle Duck did some slipping and creeping on her own account. She crept up close enough to see Mrs. Blue Hen on her nest, and she was near enough to see Mrs. Blue Hen when she ran away cackling.
 
“Then Mrs. Puddle Duck waddled²² up and peeped in the nest. There she saw three eggs as white and as smooth as ivory, and the sight filled her with jealousy²³. She began to talk to herself:—
 
“‘I knew she must be mighty²⁴ proud, the stuck-up thing! I can see that by the way she steps around here. Quack, quack! and I’ll just show her a thing or two.’
 
“Then and there Mrs. Puddle Duck, all muddy as she was, got in Mrs. Blue Hen’s nest and sat on her beautiful white eggs and soiled them. And even that was not all. Out of pure spite Mrs. Puddle Duck laid one of her own dingy-looking eggs in Mrs. Blue Hen’s nest, and that was the cause of all the trouble. That was the reason Mrs. Blue Hen found four dingy eggs in her nest when there ought to have been three clean white ones.
 
“Well, Mrs. Blue Hen went to setting, and after so long a time nine little chickens were hatched. She was very proud of them. She taught them how to talk, and then she wanted to get off her nest and teach them how to scratch about and earn their own living. But there was still one egg to hatch, and so Mrs. Blue Hen continued to set on it. One day she made up her mind to take her chicks off and leave the egg that wouldn’t hatch. The old Speckled Hen happened to be passing and Mrs. Blue Hen asked her advice. But the old Speckled Hen was very much shocked when she heard the particulars.
 
“‘What! with nine chickens!’ she cried. ‘Why, nine is an odd number. It would never do in the world. Hatch out the other egg.’
 
 
 
“But young people are very impatient, and Mrs. Blue Hen was young. She fretted²⁵ and worried a good deal, but in a few days the tenth egg hatched. Mrs. Blue Hen felt very much better after this. In fact, she felt so comfortable that she didn’t take the trouble to look at the chicken that hatched from the tenth egg. But when she brought her children off the nest she was very much astonished to find that one of them was entirely²⁶ different from all the rest. She was not only surprised, but shocked. Nine of her children were as neat-looking as she could wish them to be, but the tenth one was a sight to see. It had weak eyes, a bill as broad as a case-knife, and big, flat feet. Its feet were so big that it waddled when it walked, and all the toes of each foot were joined together.
 
“Mrs. Blue Hen had very high notions. She wanted everybody to think that she belonged to the quality, but this wabbly chicken with a broad bill and a foot that had no instep to it took her pride down a peg²⁷. She kept her children hid as long as she could, but she had to come out in public after a while, and when she did—well, I’ll let you know there was an uproar²⁸ in the barnyard. The old Speckled Hen was the first to begin it. She cried out:—
 
“‘Look—look—look! Look at the Blue Hen’s chickens!’
 
“Then the Guinea hens began to laugh, and the old Turkey Gobbler was so tickled²⁹ he came near swallowing his snout. Mrs. Blue Hen hung her head with shame, and carried her children away off in the woods.
 
“But her flat-footed chicken gave rise to a byword in all that country. When any stranger came along looking rough and ragged³⁰, it was the common saying that he was the Blue Hen’s chicken.”
 
“I’ve heard it many a time,” remarked Mrs. Meadows.
 
“There was no story in that,” Buster John suggested.
 
“No,” replied Mr. Rabbit. “Just some every-day facts picked up and strung together.”
 
“Speaking of stories,” said Mrs. Meadows, “I have one in my mind that is a sure enough story—one of the old-fashioned kind.”
 
“Well, please, ma’am, tell it,” said Buster John, so seriously that they all laughed except Mr. Rabbit.