Chapter Four
Frank’s mother, Gertie, was extremely worried. She was a very conventional hen who, in her time, had hatched a great many broods of chicks, all of whom had – she liked to think – been properly brought up. That is to say, they were well-mannered and did as they were told and behaved in every way as chicks should.
Now she had somehow managed to produce this funny son, Frank, who was acting in such a very odd fashion. She had seen him with her own eyes walk into the duckpond right up to his knees before the girl had come running to save him.
‘Let’s hope that will teach him a lesson,’ she had said to her friend Mildred. ‘I don’t think he’ll do that again in a hurry.’
But she had been wrong. He had done it again, the same day, and Mildred had seen him do it.
Mildred was by nature a pokenose who liked to stick her beak into everyone else’s business. She was also a gossip and she had made sure that the rest of the flock had heard the news before she ran to the bottom of the orchard to tell Gertie about Frank’s latest exploit.
‘You’ll never guess what’s happened to Frank!’ she panted. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, it’s the end! Poor Gertie, I thought. There was just his little head sticking out of the water, and him calling for help, oh dear, oh dear!’
‘He’s drowned!’ screeched Gertie. ‘My little Frank, he’s drowned!’
‘I don’t think so, dear,’ said Mildred. ‘The girl was there with a man who waded into the pond, rescued your little lad and took him away. But oh my, what a worry it must be for you, having a son like that.’
‘Like what?’ said Gertie.
‘Well,’ said Mildred, ‘sort of, you know, not quite …’
‘Not quite what?’ said Gertie rather sharply.
‘Well, not quite, er, right in the head,’ replied Mildred with an embarrassed cackle.
‘Mildred,’ said Gertie slowly and deliberately, ‘we have been friends for many years, you and I. After your last remark, we are friends no longer.’ And she stalked off.
The next morning Gertie was sitting in one of the nest boxes in the henhouse when Mildred appeared.
‘Good morning, Gertie dear,’ she said.
‘It is not a good morning,’ replied Gertie, ‘and I am about to lay an egg. Kindly go away.’
‘But I have something important to tell you, dear,’ said Mildred.
‘And I have something important to do, Mildred. Something private and personal. A well-bred hen expects some privacy when she is sitting in her nest box, for a purpose. I don’t wish to do it with someone looking on.’
‘Oh, sorry, dear,’ said Mildred. ‘I’ll tell you later on.’ And she went away.
As soon as she was gone, Gertie raised herself a little and, with a slightly strained expression on her face, laid an egg. She stood up and turned to inspect it. It was, she saw with satisfaction, of a good size and a good colour – a handsome shade of brown. Gertie, something of a snob, rather despised hens that laid white eggs.
Now she stepped from the nest box, gave that shout of triumph that all hens make after laying and made her way out of the henhouse. Mildred was waiting by the pop-hole.
‘What is this important thing you wish to tell me?’
‘It’s about Frank, Gertie,’ said Mildred. ‘I was having a little look around the place and happened to see him.’
‘Where?’
‘In a rabbit hutch.’
Oh no! thought Gertie. First he wants to be a duck. Now he wants to be a rabbit. ‘A rabbit hutch!’ she said. ‘Poor boy! No room to move about.’
‘No,’ said Mildred, ‘but at least you can’t drown in a rabbit hutch!’
