Poor Flaps!  Well might he say, “One ear is enough to listen to you with, you pack of ungrateful fools!”

He was beginning to find out that, as a rule, the Helpless have a nice way with them of flinging all their cares upon the Helpful, and reserving their own energies to pick holes in what is done on their behalf; and that they are apt to flourish, in good health and poor spirits, long after such friends as Flaps have been worn out, bit by bit, in their service.

“First an eye, then an ear, then a leg,” the old dog growled to himself; “and there’s not a fowl with a feather out of him.  But I’ve done my duty, and that’s enough.”

Matters went from bad to worse.  The hens had no corn, and Flaps got no eggs, and the prospect of either home or food seemed very remote.  One evening it was very rainy, the fowls roosted in a walnut-tree for shelter, and Flaps fell asleep at the foot of it.

“Could anything be more aggravating than that creature’s indifference?” said Hen No. 2.  “Here we sit, wet to the skin, and there he lies asleep!  Dear me!  I remember one of my neck feathers got awry once, at dear old Hencastle (the pencilling has been a good deal admired in my time, though I say it that shouldn’t), and the Red-haired Gentleman noticed it in a moment.  I remember he put his face as close to mine as I am to you, but in the most gentlemanly manner, and murmured so softly,

“’Excuse me—­there’s just one of those lovely little feathers the least bit in the world—­’

“I believe it was actually between his lips, when we were interrupted, and I had to put it tidy myself.  But we might all be plucked as bare as poor young Scratchfoot before Flaps would think of smoothing us down.  Just hear how he snores!  Ah! it’s a trying world, but I never complain.”

“I do, though,” said the chief hen.  “I’m not one to put up with neglect.  Hi, there! are you asleep?” And scratching a bit of the rough bark off the walnut-tree, she let it drop on to Flaps’ nose.

“I’m awake,” said Flaps; “what’s the matter?”

“I never knew any one snore when he was awake before,” said the hen; and all the young cockerels chuckled.

“Well, I believe I was napping,” said Flaps.  “Damp weather always makes me sleepy, and I was dreaming of the old farmyard.”

“Poor old farm!” sighed Hen No. 2.  “We had board and lodging there, at any rate.”

“And now we’ve neither,” said Hen No. 1.  “Mr. Flaps, do you know that we’re wet to the skin, and dying of starvation, whilst you put your nose into your great-coat pocket and go to sleep?”

“You’re right,” said Flaps.  “Something must be done this evening.  But I see no use in taking the whole community about in the rain.  We will send out another expedition.”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” screamed the three wise ones; “that means that we’re to face the storm whilst you have another nap, eh?”

“It seems an odd thing,” said the chief cock, scratching his comb with his claw, “that Flaps never thinks of going himself on these expeditions.”