XXI

Early the next morning the head of Mr. Bean, the farmer, appeared at his bedroom window. The fresh morning breeze swung the red tassel of his white cotton night-cap and waved his bushy, grey whiskers. He was looking out to see what kind of a day it was going to be.

“My goodness!” said Mr. Bean. “It’s nearly six o’clock! I certainly do miss that rooster! I haven’t been up on time one single morning since he left.”

He dressed quickly and went downstairs and out into the cow barn and gave Mrs. Wurzburger and Mrs. Wogus their breakfasts, and then he fed the chickens and the pigs and William, the horse, and the other animals. Jock, the wise old collie, went along with him.

Pretty soon Mrs. Bean rang the breakfast bell, and he went in and sat down at the table and tucked his napkin under his chin and had coffee and pancakes and hot biscuit and ham and eggs and oatmeal and two kinds of jam. And when he had had enough, he pushed back his chair and lit his pipe, taking care not to set fire to his whiskers with the match.

Then he said: “Mrs. Bean, I don’t know how you feel about it, but I certainly should like to have those animals back again. It seems sort of lonesome here this nice spring weather without Robert and Hank and Mrs. Wiggins and all the rest of them.”

“Mr. Bean,” said his wife, “I have heard you say that every morning after breakfast since the animals went away. And I will reply as I always reply: I miss them too, especially Jinx. He was a nice cat.”

“I’ve sometimes thought,” said Mr. Bean, “that maybe they wouldn’t have gone away if I had been nicer to them.”

“You was always a kind man to your animals, Mr. Bean,” his wife replied.

“Yes,” he said. “I try to be. I gave them plenty to eat and didn’t work them too hard, but after all I didn’t make them as comfortable as I might. All their houses needed repairing, and they were pretty draughty and cold in the winter-time.”

“Well, we didn’t have the money to fix them up,” said his wife.

“That’s true. That’s true,” said Mr. Bean with a sigh. And for some time neither of them said anything.

Then all at once, out in the barn-yard, Jock began to bark and the hens began to cackle and the cows mooed and the ducks quacked and the pigs squealed; and Mr. Bean jumped up and ran to the window. “What on earth is the matter?” he exclaimed, and then: “Wife! Wife!” he cried. “Here they are! Here are the animals back! Come out! Come out into the yard!” And out they rushed to welcome the wanderers.

All the animals who had stayed at home lined up on either side of the gate to welcome them. First came Charles and Henrietta, wing in wing, and then came Jinx, proudly waving his red tail, and then Freddy and Jack and Robert. And behind them came the phaeton, drawn by Hank. And Mrs. Wiggins, with Alice and Emma and the four mice on her back, brought up the rear. They marched in the gate and went three times around the barn-yard, while the animals and Mr. and Mrs. Bean cheered themselves hoarse. And then they stopped the phaeton directly in front of Mr. Bean, and Robert jumped into it and, with the help of Jack and Mrs. Wiggins, tumbled the bag of gold out on the ground.

“What on earth!” Mr. Bean exclaimed, and he bent down and untied the bag, and out rolled a stream of bright yellow coins. “Gold!” he cried. “Twenty-dollar gold pieces! Why, here’s thousands of dollars! Enough to build twenty new barns if we want ’em! And you brought all this back to me!” He stood motionless for a minute, and then he snatched off his night-cap (which he still had on), and threw it up in the air and grabbed Mrs. Bean round the waist and waltzed her around the barn-yard until they were both so dizzy they had to stop. And all the animals cheered and danced round too. Then Mr. and Mrs. Bean went round and hugged all the animals, even the mice, who were very happy, but scared all the same to be hugged so hard. And when the alarm-clock and the shawl and the other things they had brought back with them had been admired, Mr. Bean made a speech.

“Animals and friends,” he said, “I thank you a thousand times for this magnificent and munificent gift. Had you brought me back nothing but yourselves, I should have been more than happy, but since you have brought me wealth as well, I intend that you shall share in its benefits. You shall have new homes, fitted with all the modern conveniences. The workmen shall start on them to-morrow, and Mrs. Bean and I will draw the plans for them to-night. Those of you who work regularly shall work in the future no more than six hours a day, and when, as is sometimes necessary, either Hank or William works longer than that, he shall have an extra measure of oats, with sugar, for each hour of overtime. Since I have an alarm-clock, Charles may sleep as late as he wishes in the morning. I will have electric lights strung up over the duck pond, as well as in the various houses, and a small house will also be built for the mice. And perhaps next winter we can all go south together.

“And now, my friends, you are no doubt anxious to greet your relatives and talk over your adventures by flood and field; so to-day we will do no more work, but will celebrate it as a holiday in honour of your home-coming. No doubt, too, you are hungry, and Mrs. Bean will go in and prepare a feast for you, while I set to work on the plans for your new quarters. Again I thank you, my friends, from the bottom of my heart.”

That night, when the celebration was over, and the animals had all gone to bed, Freddy, the pig, who had eaten a great deal more than was good for him and consequently did not feel like sleeping, walked out into the moonlight.

“After all,” he said to himself, “it’s exciting to travel and have adventures, but there’s no place like home.” And he looked affectionately at the old familiar pig pen, where so many happy hours had been spent. And then he made up this song:

Oh, a life of adventure is gay and free,

And danger has its charm;

And no pig of spirit will bound his life

By the fence on his master’s farm.

Yet there’s no true pig but heaves a sigh

At the pleasant thought of the old home sty.

But one tires at last of wandering,

And the road grows steep and long,

A treadmill round, where no peace is found,

If one follows it overlong.

And however they wander, both pigs and men

Are always glad to get home again.