POOR FRIZZLY CHICK

by
Arna Bontemps

dew. (1934)

I. WHY THE OLD MAN LAUGHED

He was just like his mother. She was a frizzly hen, and
he was a frizzly chick. The other chickens thought it was a great
misfortune to have feathers that crimped up like that; but since he
was very young, Frizzly Chick hadn't noticed the difference. And since
he was his mother's only chick, he was sure she loved him very much.

It's fine enough to be the only chick in the family, thought
the other chicks, and it must be grand to get all the worms your mother
can scratch and not have to divide with a flock of brothers and sisters,
but being all frizzly like that is something quite different. I
think I'd rather share my worms than to be such an odd looking

Page 3

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thing.

But Frizzly Chick didn't even know he looked odd to the old speckled hen and her big family of gray chicks. Really, he was at that very moment thinking how odd they looked. For the morning was damp and cold. There was still snow on the ground in little white patches, and the old speckled hen had been out with her young ones since before daybreak. Now they were coming back from the bushes where they had been scratching, and Frizzly Chick could see that they were wet from their heads to their heels. The old hen was walking in the soft snow. The little chicks were shivering with their hands in their pockets.

Frizzly Chick followed his mother out of the barn, over to the woodshed, around the house, under the house and back to the barn again. They would walk a little way and then they would stop to scratch. Now and then, when she found a seed or a crumb that seemed especially delicious and that she thought was the kind for a little fellow's stomach, the frizzly hen would hold it up in her bill and let it drop so that Frizzly Chick could see it and pick it up for himself. While she did this, she talked very fast and very excited to the youngster.

"Cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck. Oh, look-look-look-look-look-look, Frizzly Chick. It's good-good-good-good-good-good. And it's just the thing for young ones like you; it'll make you grow big and strong."

"Peep-peep-peep," said Frizzly Chick. "It doesn't

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taste so good, though."

"Oh, but you must eat it. Little chicks must eat a
plenty of good food if they want to grow strong and have a
rosy comb when they grow up."

"A rosy comb?"

"Yes, on the top of your head. You'll have one when
you get big--if you eat well."

So they went, scratching and eating and talking like
this about things that were new and strange and wonderful
to Frizzly Chick. For he was just a little fellow. He
had just a few days ago been hatched in the next on top of
the hay in the barn, and now that his mother was giving
him his first walk in the morning sunshine, the beautiful
big world outside seemed almost too grand for words. There
was so much to see and to taste and to smell. Frizzly Chick
didn't have time to notice that his feathers were crimped
or that the other chicks thought he looked odd.

By and by an old black man with white wool on his
head came out of the house and scattered feed in the barn-
yard. Then there followed such a wild fluttering and com-
motion that Frizzly Chick was nearly swept off his feet.
He nearly lost his breath as the excited big fowls swept
past him.

"Cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck. Just stay near
me, Frizzly Chick. I'm looking out for you."

"Peep-peep-peep-peep-peep-peep," Frizzly Chick cried.

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But he was too frightened to know what he was saying.

A flock of pigeons flew down from the barn roof. The ducks started hurrying up from the creek, quacking loudly and flapping their wings. The turkey gobbler came running. And soon there was such a host of Guinea-fowls and geese and big chickens and little chickens making noise in the barnyard that the pigs and the goats and the cow and the horse and the mule came to see what was causing all the excitement.

Frizzly Chick looked at the large grains of corn, the sun-flower seeds, the wheat and the barley seeds; he picked them up in his mouth and tried to eat them. But that was useless. They were all too big for him. He followed his mother sadly, peeping in a little thin voice because he didn't know what else to do.

Then suddenly the old black man with the white wool on his head noticed Frizzly Chick.

"Well, now, where did that young-one come from? Don't know as I remembers seeing him before."

He looked at the old hen and he looked at the little chick. His eyes were not good, but finally he noticed something that made him laugh.

"Bless me," he said. "I do believe that's another frizzly chick. Indeed it is. Yes, suh, that chick is good luck. Come here to me, you young fellow; you can't eat this old common feed. A frizzly chick is the finest thing in the world to have around a place, and I'm going to feed you

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something that's fit for a king."

So he caught Frizzly Chick and carried him into the
house. He crushed a piece of cornbread until it was like
meal and put it on a paper. Frizzly Chick liked it fine.
Then when the chick could eat no more, the old man carried
him out to his mother again.

This made Frizzly Chick happy. He began to feel that
there were two who loved him: his mother, the frizzly hen,
and the old black man with the white wool on his head.

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## II. "DID YOU SEE WHAT I SAW?"

Then the days got warmer. The patches of dirty snow melted, and the ground dried. Frizzly Chick went out early with his mother, and she taught him to catch yellow flies under the gall-berry bushes. The sun came up strong, and in a clump of bushes nearby, Frizzly Chick could hear the old speckled hen with her large family. He thought once that he would like to go and play with those youngsters, but just then he remembered his mother's words: "No, Frizzly Chick, you're much too young to wander about, much too young to have playmates yet. Stay with me."

Suddenly a shadow passed before the sun.

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"Ca-aaw, ca-aaaaaw!" cried the old frizzly hen.
"Did you see what I sa-aaw, sa-aaaaaw?"

"Peep-peep," Frizzly Chick said, trembling. "What was it?"

"It was too swift for a cloud. I think it was a pair of wings. Beware. A pair of wings darkened the sun. Beware."

Frizzly Chick didn't know what all that meant, but he came near his mother and made up his mind to do just as she did if the shadow passed over them another time.

They went on hunting for yellow flies. Soon the speckled family was back near them again, and all the young ones were scampering quite boldly from bush to bush. Oh, how bright the sun was becoming, Frizzly Chick thought. How warm and beautiful the day! No doubt those dangerous wings were gone. Off Frizzly Chick went for another yellow fly. But he did not catch it. Something made him stop, made him turn around, listen a second and then run another way.

"I sa-aaw," cried his mother. "I really sa-aaaaaw. It's a hawk!"

Away she went and hid herself under a large bush. Away went Frizzly Chick and hid under a small one. He was too frightened to make a sound. He nestled low against the stem of the bush, protected by leaves and twigs.

A little while later he heard his mother clucking

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and he knew it was safe to come out again.

"Well, he didn't get you," the mother said.

"No," Frizzly Chick said. "I found a good place and kept very quiet."

But when they found the old speckled hen again, she was terribly distressed. She was going round and round, her feathers fluffed up, talking very fast and counting and counting her young ones, over and over again.

"Dear, dear me. There were twelve, and now I can Only count eleven. The hawk got one. There were twelve, and now I can only count eleven. Dear, dear me."

"Cluck," said Frizzly Chick's mother softly. "Cluck. Stay near me, Frizzly Chick. She still has eleven. If I were to lose you, how many would I have?"

But Frizzly Chick couldn't count yet, not even to one, so he stayed very near.

Just then the old black man with the white wool on his head came running over the knoll, down the slope, across the field, through the hedge and into the thicket of blackberry bushes.

"Where's that there hawk? Where'd he go?"

The old man had a gun in his hands, but the hawk was nowhere to be seen.

"He got one, too," the old man said. "I seen him with it in his claws. I wonder was it my frizzly chick he got?" He looked around. "No, there you is, you little good-luck rascal. Bless your heart, there you is."

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And Frizzly Chick was glad to be there, too, instead
of in the claws of that hawk.

He and his mother started back through the hedge
and across the field. It would be better and safer to get
near the barn with a frightful hawk flying about and snatching up young chicks. They walked quite rapidly.

Soon the old man returned, too.

"I'll fix that hawk," he said. "You just see if I don't. I know how I'm going to get him. You wait and see."

The old speckled hen was coming in, too. She was
still fluffed and terribly upset, but she had given up
counting. There was no way she could make eleven count up
to twelve. One was gone.

Frizzly Chick stayed near his mother.

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### III. HOW A CHICKEN TAKES A BATH

"He'll come back one of these days," the old black man said, sitting on his back steps and looking at the trap he had made for the hawk. "And when he come, that there trap will be waiting for him."

Then he went inside the house and closed the door.

All the fowls in the barnyard looked at the trap, too, but it didn't look much like a trap to them. The old man had placed it on the top of a tall pole that stood on the top of the barn. Instead of a bit of food to tempt the hawk into the snare, he had placed a tuft of feathers. The hawk would think that it was a pigeon or a small chicken on the pole and would swoop down and

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snatch at the feathers with his claws. But he would not
be able to take the feathers away; he would just spring
the trap and catch his own claws in the steal clamps.

It all seemed very terrible to Frizzly Chick, but
he decided that possibly it was necessary. Hawks were
such evil birds. Why it made him tremble just to think
about one. He could almost imagine himself caught in
those cruel claws, carried away like the old speckled
hen's chick had been. It was just too terrible to think
about.

"Now, now," his mother said, clucking. "There is
nothing to make you afraid now, Frizzly Chick. Stop
trembling like that."

"I c-c-cant," Frizzly Chick said, stuttering.

"Let's go under the house over there. It is cool
and shady there. We can bathe in the sand, and I will
tell you something very important."

Across the yard they went. Frizzly Chick noticed
that every day seemed brighter than the day before. The
sky seemed bluer; the sun seemed bigger. Oh, it was a
wonderful big world that he lived in, he thought. And
a very cheerful world it seemed this morning, too. The
Guinea-fowl were chattering noisily in their strange
voices. The turkey gobbler was strutting, all puffed
out as grand as a king. The ducks were quacking. And
all the geese had gotten off by themselves and were

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trying to sing. They sounded a good bit like people,
but they couldn't keep together and they didn't seem to
know the tune of the song they were trying to sing.

Frizzly Chick ran along behind his mother. When
they were under the house, the old hen showed him how
to bathe in the cool sand. You sat down in a good place
with your feet under you. Then you splashed the sand
with your feet and wings in such a way as to throw lots
of it into your feathers. Then you got up and shook it
all out. By that time you were pretty clean.

Frizzly Chick tried it; he had no feathers yet,
only a soft frizzly down over his body, but he needed
bathing just the same. He learned very quickly. It
was lots of fun, so cool and fine. Then it made one
feel so good to be clean. Ah, he thought, bathing was
the most wonderful thing he had yet learned. He would
come back under the house and splash himself in the sand
every day.

"Now, what a fine young one," his mother said. "So
nice and clean. Doesn't it feel good?"

"Peep-peep," Frizzly Chick said. "Peep-peep peep-peep."

Of course, his mother knew what that meant, and perhaps you do too.

"Now I can talk to you," the old hen said.

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Frizzy Chick sat very still, his eyes wide open, and listened carefully to every word.

She told him that the hawk was not the only bird that could do a little chick harm. By and by, when he was old enough to sleep on a bough of a tree instead of under her wing, he would have to know how to find a safe place. Sometimes owls came and sat on a limb beside a chicken. Owls could see at night. They would pretend to be sleeping on the bough too, and they would sit beside the chicken. Then when the chicken was fast asleep, the owl would push him off the bough with his wing. While the chicken was lost in the dark, the old owl would swoop down and snatch him up just as the hawk did.

So it was necessary to know how to roost. One should always choose the highest bough he could fly to, so as to be safe from animals on the ground. Then one should try to get against something so that an owl could not well sit beside him. If several chickens could sit side by side, that was better. They could all get as near the stem of the tree as possible, and that would force the owl to sit out on the weak end of the bough. Out there he wouldn't have such an easy time pushing the chickens off while they slept.

"I'm glad I'm little," Frizzly Chick said. "I'd

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be afraid to sleep on a roost.

His mother could have laughed at that. Frizzly
Chick was so young he didn't know anything.

"Why, a roost is the place for a chicken," she
said. "When you're older, you won't enjoy sleeping
any other place. But let's go back to the barnyard
now and see if the old man's trap has caught the hawk
yet."

They crossed the yard again. But the trap was still
empty. The hawk was staying away. Frizzly Chick was
glad. Even with the trap set, he was afraid to have the
hawk come around.

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IV. GROWING UP

"Cluck-cluck. You're getting big enough to take care
of yourself now," Frizzly Chick's mother said. "Cluck-
cluck. I won't be scratching for you much longer."

"Why do you say that?" Frizzly Chick asked.

"See there, you're losing your frizzly down. That
means you're growing up. Soon there won't be any left
at all."

Frizzly Chick finished taking his sand bath and went
out in the sunlight to look at himself in a puddle of
water. Sure enough he was losing his down. Large
patches had already come off. Dear me, thought

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Frizzly Chick, I shall soon have nothing on me at all.
I hope the weather doesn't turn cold.

The next day when he finished bathing, he looked
at himself again in the puddle. Still more of the fuzzy
down was gone. Spring is not passed yet, he thought,
the days may turn cold again. The wind may blow down
from the north again before my new feathers grow out.
Oh, I know it will be terribly cold.

Every day he went back to the puddle and looked at
himself. Yes, he saw that he was growing fast. He was
almost big enough to roost on a bough of a tree and scratch
for himself. Then he thought about what his mother had
told him about owls; he remembered the hawk that had
caught one of the old speckled hen's chicks. He shiver-
ed with fear. Then he thought, I mustn't do that. I
mustn't be afraid. I'm getting big now. Why see there,
my down is almost all gone. Just those two little pat-
ches on my wings left. I mustn't be afraid, big as I'm
getting.

He looked around him suddenly. His mother was gone
across the field. She wasn't looking around to see if
he were following; she was just walking carelessly, peck-
ing at the berries and thinking about other things.

Frizzly Chick almost cried. His mother had never
before walked off and left him like that. Always be-

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fore she had clucked every minute or two to let him know
she was near. But here she was going across the field
without looking around, without clucking and without
thinking about poor Frizzly Chick.

"Peep-peep-peep. Oh-oh-oh," the little fellow
cried, running after her as fast as he could. "Oh-oh-
oh."

"Now what's all that for?" his mother said, looking
over her shoulder.

"You were forgetting me. You were going away
and leaving me behind. Peep-peep-peep."

"You were busy looking at yourself in the puddle.
Besides, you must look out for yourself now. You're big
enough."

Yes, that was true. He had forgotten that soon.
When he looked up and saw his mother away across that
field, he had just felt like crying and running after
her. It was going to be hard to get along without her
nearby every minute. And if it should get cold, now that
he had scarcely any down left, how miserable and unhappy
he would be without her wing to sleep under.

All the rest of that day she let him follow her,
but she did not cluck. He was big enough to look out
for himself. And when night came, she showed him how
to roost on a wall between the stanchions in the barn,

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since he had no feathers to help him fly up to a bough
of a tree. That was good enough, with her beside him,
but he hated the thought of coming there some night all
by himself.

A few more days passed, and Frizzly Chick had not
a speck of down left on his body. Dear me, he thought,
I know everybody is laughing at me. I feel so queer
like this with nothing on. I wish everybody wouldn't
look at me so hard. I'm going off by myself.

Then he thought about the hawk. Well, he couldn't
stop for that. It was more than he could bear to stay
in the barnyard with all those feathered creatures while
he had not a single feather and not a speck of down.
He ran away fast, hid under a bush and ate nothing but
worms for his dinner.

Later in the afternoon he saw an old woman come out
of the house with a tub of clothes she had just washed.
She carried them over to the clothes lines and began
hanging them out. There were dresses and bonnets and
waists and jackets and overalls and underclothes. Well,
now, he thought, clothes like those would certainly keep
a body warm. If one had things like that to wear, being
without feathers or down wouldn't beem so bad.

That night, while he was roosting beside his mother,
the wind commenced to blow. The air became cold. Frizzly

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Chick shivered.

Oh-oh-oh, he thought, if I only had a jacket and
a pair of overalls. If I only had some good warm under-
clothes to wear, how much better I'd feel. He could just
see himself dressed up like that, walking about proudly,
not minding the cold wind at all. But oh-oh-oh, he had
none and the wind got colder and colder.

"Stop that whimpering and go to sleep," his mother
said.

"I'm cold," he cried. "I'm terribly cold. I want
some clothes."

His mother didn't say anything. She was thinking,
That young one is certainly a sight. He wants some
clothes. My-my-my, that Frizzly Chick is certainly a
sight.

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V. DREAM

That night as he slept, Frizzly Chick suddenly re-
alized that he was alone. He stretched his wings out
both ways but he couldn't touch his mother on either side.
The barn was dark and he could not see a thing, and he
thought that by moving a little on the cross-piece where
he was roosting he would certainly be able to touch her
soon. So he began, little by little, creeping along.
But she was not there; Frizzly Chick settled down to sleep
again.

After a while he thought that he felt something
alight on the wall beside him. The wind was blowing

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frightfully hard outside, and Frizzly Chick could hear
the barn door banging open and closed. Then he felt him-
self pushed just a little. He was terribly frightened,
but he was still more asleep than he was awake. He
trembled and whimpered.

A little later he felt the thing beside him move a
bit closer and give him another push. Then Frizzly Chick
remembered what his mother had told him about owls, the
birds that could see at night. And when he thought of
that he became too frightened to even whimper or try to
move. Oh, there it was again, moving up still closer
and giving another push.

My, that was a hard one, Frizzly Chick thought, I
almost went down that time. I'm sure it's an owl. What'll
become of me?

Even though the wind kept blowing and the door kept
banging, he forgot to think about being cold. He even
forgot about the good warm underclothes and overalls and
jacket he wanted so badly. Maybe, he thought, I moved
the wrong way when I was trying to find my mother. Maybe
I moved *away* from her. She may be down further the other
way.

But he could not move back. He was still more
asleep than he was awake, and there was that owl beside
him now--he was sure it must be an owl. Another push

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like that last one and he would go down. Then the owl
would surely get him. It was too terrible to think
about.

Once more the barn door banged, a heavy gust of
wind blew through the place, and at the same instant the
thing sitting beside Frizzly Chick gave him such a hard
shove he lost his footing and went to the dark floor
crying as he fell. Even when he was on the floor, he
could not stop crying aloud. He woke up the Guineas
who were roosting outside someplace. They slept very
lightly anyhow, and immediately they began chattering
as if the sky were falling.

What was it the Guineas said? Was it *come quick*?
Anyway they had heard his cries, and now they were alarm-
ing the barnyard.

The geese heard it and began screaming like old
women afraid of a mouse.

Frizzly Chick crept into a corner and waited for
the owl to come and take him away. He waited trembling,
resting his weight on one foot. Then he rested his weight
on the other foot and waited some more. Still the owl
did not take him. There was no owl on the floor near
him, and Frizzly Chick heard no wings beating the air
up above. He heard nothing at all except the wind out-
side and the noisy Guineas trying to alarm the whole
countryside and the geese screaming like old women afraid

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of a mouse. But after another pause he heard his mother speaking.

"Why, I thought something was catching you, the way you cried."

"I think it was an owl," Frizzly Chick said.

"Owl? Will you listen to that? You must have been dreaming."

"Well, I'm not dreaming now, and here I am down on the ground, hiding in this corner."

"The wind must have blown you down. You had no business getting away over there by yourself. You should have stayed here by me."

"Well, I thought--"

"Oh, I know what you thought. You are too scary for a young one your size. No need to try to sleep any more now. Dawn is breaking."

There, sure enough, was a little pale ray of light coming in the door. Frizzly Chick waited in his corner till he heard other chickens in the yard, then he crept out timidly.

"What was all that noise about, young fellow?" asked the old speckled hen.

"The wind blew me off my roost."

"Oh, I thought something had you."

"Well, really, I thought so too at first."

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"Now that's what I thought. I know a scared cry when I hear one."

That made Frizzly Chick feel ashamed of himself. He had so many things to make him unhappy, so many things to make the other fowls laugh at him, he could hardly keep from crying. His mother had left him to scratch for himself. The morning was cold and he had no feathers and no good warm clothes like the ones the old man's wife hung on the clothes line. And now he had screamed so loud last night when the wind blew him off his roost that they would all be saying he was a scary cat.

Frizzly Chick began scratching busily to keep warm. He saw that the old speckled hen's chicks were all getting little pin feathers. They did not seem unhappy at all. Frizzly Chick thought he would look at himself in the puddle and see if he looked as bad as he felt. But when the sun came up and he went to look at himself, he saw that the puddle was gone. The wind had dried it up. He would have to wait till another rain made some more puddles in the yard.

By then, he thought, he would have a few feathers, too. Then he would be happy.

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VI. HOW FRIZZLY CHICK SAW HIMSELF

The days passed. The hawk never came back again,
and everything went well--everything, that is, except
one. There was no rain to fill the puddles with water
so that Frizzly Chick could see himself. He knew that
little pin feathers were growing on him, but he did not
know how they looked. He was happy, but terribly cur-
ious.

Then one morning he noticed that all the speckled
chicks were off in a group laughing at him.

"Did you ever see the like?" one of them said.

Bontemps--28

"Never," another said. "Why, they are even more
frizzly than his mother's feathers."

"I'm kind of sorry for him," still another said.
"It's such a misfortune."

"I'm not sorry," the first one said. "He's just
not as good as we are."

"Yes," the second one said, "feathers are everything.
You can tell what a chick amounts to by his feathers."

"I'm not so sure about that," the third one said.
"There are so many kinds of feathers, you know. Some-
times a mean and selfish chick has very pretty ones. I
just think it's a terrible misfortune that he--" She
paused and threw a glance over her shoulder, then whis-
pered--"that he should be covered with those funny crimped
up things."

"Oh, he's listening," the first one said.

"Yes, lets not talk about it any more," said the
second.

They walked away, chattering together and laughing
as if they had never seen him. But Frizzly Chick had
heard it all, and he felt so hurt he could have cried.
They thought he was not as good as they were. They would
not play with him. My, he thought, I must really be a
horrible sight with my frizzly feathers coming out. Oh,
if it would only rain so that I could see myself in a

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puddle.

Still it did not rain, but the next afternoon some-
thing happened that was even better. The wife of the
old man with the white wool on his head took down the
curtains in her windows and began giving her house a
spring cleaning. She brought out the rugs, hung them
on the clothes' lines and beat them with a stick. She
opened the door and pulled couches and chairs and tables
out on the front porch. Then finally she brought out
a dresser with a big mirror in it.

Ah, Frizzly Chick thought, that is just the thigg.
Now I shall see how I look. Now I shall see what makes
them laugh at me.

So he hopped up on the porch, then he hopped up on
a chair, then he hopped up on a table, then he hopped
up on the dresser. And then he saw. Little fluffy,
crimped, black feathers covered his whole body. They
did not lie smooth against his flesh, and they did not
all go in the same way. They looked mussed-up, and
Frizzly Chick could see that he was a strange sight.
Yet, he remembered, his mother's feathers were crimped
too, and she had always seemed to him the most beautiful
chicken in the yard. Maybe he would look better when
he grew older. But now--oh, what a sight! He stood there
on the dresser looking and looking and looking, turning

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first one side to the mirror and then the other.

Then suddenly he saw something in the glass that surprised him. The old man's wife was walking toward him. She looked very angry. He saw her lips move in the mirror, but he seemed to hear her voice behind him. Suddenly Frizzly Chick was so confused he didn't know which way to go. He started to run away from the voice behind him and he bumped into himself in the mirror. He started to back away from the woman in the mirror and he backed right into the hands of the one behind him.

"Oh-oh-oh!" he cried.

He flapped his little wings, struggled, cried some more, and did everything he could think of to get free. But the woman held him in her hands and she held him tight.

"There, suh, I'll teach you to hop up on my new furniture. I think I'll wring your neck and put you in the pot for Sunday dinner. That's what I've got a mind to do. You must be lost your mind, suh, hopping up on my furniture like that."

The old black man heard all the noise and came running to see what was the matter. When he stuck his head out of the door and saw the old woman holding the chick as if she really meant to wring its neck, he called

Bontemps--31

to her.

"Hold on there, Calcedonia," he said.

"Hush up, Ezekiel," she said. "I'm real busy."

"What you fixing to do?"

"I'm fixing to kill me a chicken for Sunday dinner.
This here young one is too big for his britches--hop-
ping up on my new dresser and looking at hisself in the
glass. I'm going to see how he like my old black kettle."

"No, don't do that, Calcedonia. Look at that chick
again."

"Why, what's the matter with him?"

"Nothing. Just you look at him."

"Oh," she said in surprise. "Oh, I see. He the
frizzly one, ain't he?"

"I help you to say he the frizzly one. That there
chick can come in the parlor if he want to. He can have
a chair at the dinner table, do he want it." The old
man laughed, slapping his knee. "A frizzly chick like
that has magic power. He can keep anybody from witching
you. He can keep away conjure. He can keep sickness
from among all the other chickens and ducks and turkeys
and things. And if there is any poison around the house,
he'll find it and eat it. Poison won't hurt him. That
chick is got good cause to feel all proud and to hop
up on the dresser and look at hisself."

"Well, peoples, he come mighty near being a dead

Bontemps--33

VII. LEARNING TO CROW

Frizzly Chick went back to the barn walking with
a proud air. Now and then he paused and stood on one
foot. It had made him feel so good to hear the old man
praise him, that now nothing seemed the same. The sun-
shine was brighter. All the other chickens seemed more
cheerful and friendly. Of course, they were the same
as ever, but he felt so glad himself he simply could not
believe that all the rest of the world was not glad
too.

Bontemps--34

Ah, he thought, if the others had only heard him say it, they would never laugh at me again; they would know my real worth. The old man said I have magic power. My-my, just think of it. I have magic power. I keep sickness away from the other chickens. And I never even knew it myself. I must find my mother. I wonder why she never told me.

He went across the field. His mother was resting beneath the big leaves of a palma-Christi tree.

"Why, you're all out of breath," she said.

"I'm happy," he told her. "I have just found out."

"You've just found out what?"

"I have magic power. I can protect the old man and his wife against witchcraft. And lots of other things I can do, too."

"Who told you?"

"I heard the old man tell his wife."

His mother just smiled. Frizzly Chick was indeed growing up. Now he had begun to find out things. He kept his ears open. He was a smart young one.

Frizzly Chick could see that she was proud of him. But it seemed that she wanted to be alone, and suddenly Frizzly Chick wanted to be alone, too. So he went across the field to an old shed.