he peeps over Blue Mountain. It's lucky I have a good, strong voice," the
Rooster, added with a smirk, for he was feeling more at his ease. "If I
had a thin, squeaky crow such as those worthless cockerels have, Farmer
Green would have had to do many a day's work in the dark."

"Goodness!" Henrietta Hen gasped. "Do crow your loudest the moment you
wake up, Mr. Rooster! Do make all the noise you can!" And he promised
faithfully that he would.

Henrietta left him then. Somehow she couldn't get their talk out of her
mind. And soon she had an unhappy thought. What if anything should happen
to the Rooster's voice?

The moment that question popped into her head, Henrietta Hen hurried back
to the Rooster.

"Do be careful!" she besought him. "Don't get your feet wet! For if you
caught cold you might be so hoarse that you couldn't speak above a
whisper."

The Rooster thanked her politely for thinking of his health.

"I always take good care of myself," he assured her.

"It looks like rain this minute," she said as she cast an anxious glance
at the sky. "Hadn't you better run into the barn?"

He thought otherwise--and said as much.

"You ought to wear rubbers every day," she chided him, as she went away