# Master Frisky/Chapter 3

It was still the middle of February, and as yet there was little indication of spring. The snow lay deep upon the ground, the eaves rarely dripped by day, and the nights were cold and crisp.
As soon as the sun went down and it began to grow dusk, the North Wind would come driving his white-maned horses over the snow at a gallop; and sometimes, when he got to driving too recklessly, you would hear his steeds come bang against the side of the house.
Under the snow, the Daffy-down-dillies were sleeping soundly; or perhaps they dreamed occasionally of spring. So cold it was, and so wintry, that you may imagine my astonishment, on going to the barn one morning, to find Old Speck setting.
"Why, you foolish old hen," I said, "you don't want any chickens this time of the year; they would all freeze to death." I put my hand down to push her off the nest; but she pecked savagely at me, and said "Curr, curr," which means in her language, "Go away, I want to set, I want some chickens."
​So I let her stay on the nest, thinking, as it was so cold, that she would soon get tired of trying to set. But every morning when I went to the barn, I found her on the nest. At last, like Old Speck, I, too, began to long for some chickens. How cheerful it would sound to hear them peeping.
So, finally, I fixed her a warm nest in the haymow, and put thirteen eggs under her and waited. But how long those three weeks seemed! Each day when I went up-stairs to feed and water the hen, Master Frisky would go too, and stand watching her through the slats of the box, while she ate. I said "Chickens" to him, and he wagged his tail, and seemed to understand.
At last the longed-for day came; and Old Speck, with much clucking and scolding, came off with just one chicken. But what a cute little fellow he was, as black as a coal, and as lively as a grasshopper. I held him in my hand, and let Master Frisky look at him; and he laughed and wagged his tail, and gave three or four glad barks.
Old Speck scratched around as hard in the straw for this one chicken as she would have done for a dozen; and how this little bit of black down would peep. When he was nestled under his mother's wings, his peep was soft and contented; but when running about the box, it was shrill and loud; and if you had not seen him, you would have thought that there were a dozen chickens instead of one.
​At first he was but a ball of fuzz; but after about a week, the tiniest feathers began to show at the tips of his wings; and by the third week he had quite a growth of them.
He did not eat much at first; but Old Speck broke up bits of the egg-shell, and he swallowed those; and that gave him a chance to grind the other things that he soon learned to eat. When I would bring him out a soaked cracker, his mother would say, "Break, break, break." This meant breakfast; and he would first peep out from under her wing, and then come scampering out and peck at the cracker with the cutest little yellow bill.
When he had finished his breakfast, you could hardly see that the cracker had been touched; but he was a very little chicken, and it was all he wanted. Then he would go up to the water, and, standing on the edge of a box-cover that I had filled, dip his bill in, pausing each time to give thanks as his mother did.
It was a new and strange world into which this young chick had just pecked his way; and he felt very important of his conquest of that tough egg-shell, and proud of himself as well. His bright eyes saw everything, and his quick little feet were eager to carry him to all parts of the world.
At present his world was a box about three feet square and two high. It seemed a very large place to the young chick, who was so small, that when his mother scratched in the ​straw, she would occasionally cover him entirely up, and then there would be such a peeping and scratching until he had uncovered himself again and saw daylight.
It was not long before he had peeped into all the corners of the box, and explored all the holes in the straw; so then he began looking through the slats on the box, and wondering what was on the outside. At this Old Speck clucked sternly, and told him not to venture outside, for it was very dangerous. But the next day, when his mother was scratching for him in the loose dirt, he slipped through the slats, but was terribly frightened to see a large, strange thing crouching on the hay watching him.
"Peep, peep," he said, "I am so frightened." Old Speck ran quickly, and beat against the side of the box, and made a great noise with her wings, so that the cat did not dare come near; and the poor little chicken scrambled back into the box as soon as he could. He hid under his mother's wing, and was so frightened that he did not dare look out, for fear that he would see those two terrible eyes.
All the next day he was very good, staying close to his mother, and coming quickly when she called. That night they heard a strange nibbling noise at one end of the box; they listened for a long time, and finally it ceased. Old Speck told the chick that it was a wicked rat, who was an old enemy of theirs, and that they must be careful.
​During the days that followed it was very cold and the wind howled. Old Speck and the chick kept quiet; and the wise old hen told him of the outside world into which they should soon go, and of its many dangers and deceits, all of which should have terrified so young a chicken, and made him keep close to his mother.
But this one was not terrified, and he longed for the time when they should go forth from the box and see all these strange and terrible things about which his mother had been telling him.
He did not think that Red Tail, the hawk, could get him,—not if he saw him coming; and he would always know when Whiteplume was about by the smell. He would keep his eye out for Sly-boy, whom his mother described as so terrible. The rats and the cats had not got him yet, and he did not believe that they could.
And as for Lord Reynard, who lived in the woods beyond the meadow, and who had carried his great-grandfather off one night, notwithstanding that he was a large rooster—well, that was a long time ago, and such things did not happen now; anyhow, Lord Reynard would not want a small chicken, and when he got larger he would look out for him.
At last the longed-for day came. It was about the first of April: the winds were still cold, but the snow was all gone, and there was a touch of green on the lawns along the sunny south sides. Dandelion had not yet lifted up ​his golden head; but he was restless, and his leaves had put on a pale green.
I knocked off one of the boards of the box, and forth came Old Speck, clucking and bristling, closely followed by the black chicken. About the lawn they went, "Cluck, cluck, cluck; peep, peep, peep." I never have seen a chicken before or since that could peep like this little black bunch of feathers. His note was as loud and as clear as a canary's, and as persistent as it was delightful. "Spring, spring, spring," he seemed to be saying; "Spring, spring, spring," from morning until night.
"What, have you got chickens?" asked a neighbor. "Yes, one," I said. "One, I should think that there were twenty," said the friend. So we named him the Peep, and took this bold little chick to our hearts, and he became as one of the family.
Many were the adventures that befell him, and many a time Old Speck's courage and wisdom saved him from destruction. Once Red Tail bore down upon them when they were far from cover, and Old Speck beat at him furiously with her wings, and for a moment kept him at a distance. But, fortunately for them both, Master Frisky happened to hear the noise and came running, barking so fiercely that the terrible hawk flew away. Master Frisky had a great liking for the Peep from the first, and if he saw the cat looking longingly at him, he would chase the cat under the barn or up a tree.
​Sir Cock-a-doodle, too, took a shine to the precocious youngster; and he took it upon himself to keep the hens from pecking it, which was quite a condescension on his part.
When it was time to go to roost, the Peep would get upon his mother's back, and then she would fly upon a low roost, and from that to a higher one. When they were safe upon the roost, the Peep would wiggle down from her back, and then walk carefully along to Sir Cock-a-doodle, and adroitly slip between his legs, and there he would stand upon the perch all night.
It was a comical and amusing picture, the great white rooster, tall and dignified, and the bit of a chicken, that came barely up to his spurs, standing between his legs; and when once safely settled for the night, the Peep would swell up and try to look like Sir Cock-a-doodle. He seemed to say, "Don't you see us, Sir Cock-a-doodle and I? We are the guardians of the roost."
It is hard to conjecture what this young chicken might have become, or what he might have accomplished, had it not been for a most lamentable "if."
One morning he was standing upon the perch between the legs of his protector as usual. It was not yet light, but his bright eyes were wide open. He could hear the hens and Sir Cock-a-doodle breathing peacefully, and through the window he could see the pale morning stars. ​How still it was, and how strange! Presently he began studying a certain hole in one corner of the henhouse. He had often wondered what was in it; but his mother had told him that it was a very dangerous hole, and that he must keep away from it.
Here was an adventure; he would explore the hole this morning, before any of the hen family were awake; so down he slipped from the roost, and started toward the hole. But when he got to the corner he stopped; something seemed to say "Go back, go back," and then he heard a little noise. What could it be? He must see what that noise was, so into the hole he slipped. How dark it was, and how frightful and cold. He would go back at once, but which was the way? Instead of looking back into the comfortable henhouse, he was looking directly into the beady, wicked eyes of Charkey Nibbler.
About him, on every side, were a half dozen wicked looking rats. He tried to peep, but his voice, that was usually so loud and shrill, was a mere squeak; and then the rats came closer, and he could feel their hot breath and see their white cruel teeth. And then he found his voice: "Peep, peep," he cried; "Sir Cock-a-doodle, Sir Cock-a-doodle, save me."
With a loud note of alarm, Sir Cock-a-doodle came down from the roost, followed by all the hens. Old Speck scratched at the hole frantically, while Sir Cock-a-doodle beat his strong ​wings against the boards with a great noise, but all to no purpose. They all knew too well the meaning of those pathetic peeps that grew fainter and fainter, until all was still.
When I arrived at the henhouse, the commotion had stopped, and many of the hens had gone back to the roost; but Sir Cock-a-doodle and Old Speck still stood in the corner. When by the light of my lantern I discovered a few small black feathers and a drop of blood upon the dirt, I did not need to search further; the sad end of the Peep was only too apparent.
I filled the hole with dirt, and went sorrowfully back to bed, thinking how we should miss his shrill peeping on the morrow. "How lonely it is without him!" said Old Speck to Sir Cock-a-doodle, the next night upon the roost.
"Did you notice how my voice broke to-day?" returned that worthy. "I could scarcely crow; he was a chicken after my own heart, and would have made a fine cock; but alas, the good die young."