Chapter Eleven

‘Mum!’ yelled Frank at the top of his voice. ‘Behind you! Look behind you!’ and Gertie, doing as she was told for once, came scuttling towards him, wings flapping madly, squawking in panic.

Chickens have always run away from foxes, and Frank should now have fled too. For a moment he was paralysed with fear, knowing that he’d be too slow to escape. But then, unable to bear the sight of his terror-stricken old mother, he set off bravely straight towards the oncoming fox.

‘Keep going, Mum!’ he cried as Gertie dashed past, and then he marched on towards the old enemy, lifting his great yellow webs high and stamping them down again while loudly crying, ‘Frank! Frank!’

The fox stopped in his tracks. What kind of chicken was this that was coming directly at him, shouting some kind of war cry? What kind of chicken was this that wore a coat of green armour, that had huge webbed feet, and smelled strongly of duckpond? The old dog fox’s nerve broke, and he turned tail and slunk away.

Just then, Jemima came out into the orchard to shut the ducks and chickens up for the night. She heard her cockerel’s cries and ran, just in time to see the worsting of the fox. ‘Oh, Frank, Frank!’ she called, and then she hurried to pick him up.

‘What a brave boy you are!’ she said as she carried him to the duckhouse. But when she came to its door, he kicked and struggled and squawked and shouted his name in an angry voice. So she took him to the henhouse, and he jumped out of her arms and dashed in.

On one of the perches, a breathless Gertie had been telling Mildred what had happened.

‘There was a fox …’ she panted.

‘I told you, didn’t I?’ said Mildred. ‘I told you it was getting late.’

‘Oh, be quiet and listen,’ said Gertie, ‘because if it hadn’t been for Frank, you would never have heard my voice again.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Mildred.

‘He saved my life!’ said Gertie. ‘He charged at that fox so that I could have time to escape. I only hope he died quickly. Oh, my brave Frank, he gave his life for mine.’ She closed her eyes and sat in silent mourning.

‘I don’t think he did, dear,’ said Mildred, for at that moment Frank came dashing in through the henhouse door, which Jemima closed behind him.

Gertie opened her eyes to see, standing in the gloom, the rubber-clad figure of her son. ‘It’s a ghost!’ she murmured to Mildred in horror.

‘I don’t think it is, dear,’ said Mildred.

‘I’m not a ghost, Mum,’ said Frank. ‘I’m solid flesh and blood.’

‘And rubber,’ said Mildred.

‘Yes, I think that’s what scared that old fox. He’d never seen a cockerel like me.’

‘There’s never been a cockerel like you, my boy!’ cried Gertie. ‘You saved Mummy’s life! You’re a hero!’

Frank looked down his beak modestly.

‘And it’s lovely to have you back here with us instead of being with those old ducks,’ said Gertie. I daresay it was his funny gear that frightened that fox, she thought drowsily as she drifted towards sleep. But I wish he’d get rid of it …