pecked at each other till the blood ran down and they fell down dead, to the
derision and shame of their family, and to the great loss of their owner.”
The hen who had lost the loose little feather naturally did not recognise
her own story, and being a respectable hen, said: “I despise those fowls; but
there are more of that kind. Such things ought not to be concealed, and I
will do my best to get the story into the papers, so that it becomes known
throughout the land; the hens have richly deserved it, and their family too.”
It got into the papers, it was printed; and there is no doubt about it, one
little feather may easily grow into five hens.
