"I don't know whether you can help me or not," said Henrietta Hen. "Have
you any feathers in your basket?"

"No--no! No feathers!" Aunt Polly replied. "I use herbs in my business of
doctoring. But I've heard that a burnt feather held under a body's nose
will do wonders sometimes.... I must always carry a feather in my basket,
hereafter."

"_One_ feather wouldn't do me any good," said Henrietta Hen with a
doleful sigh. "I need a great many more than one."

"You do?" Aunt Polly cried.

"Yes!" Henrietta answered. "Half my feathers have dropped off me. And
that's why I've come to ask your advice. I'm fast losing my fatal
beauty."

Henrietta Hen's voice trembled as she told Aunt Polly Woodchuck the
dreadful news. "I don't believe you'll be able to help me," she quavered.
"I'll soon look like a perfect fright. Besides, winter's coming; and how
I'll ever keep warm with no feathers is more than I know."

Henrietta Hen couldn't understand how Aunt Polly managed to stay so calm.
Henrietta had expected her to throw up her hands and say something like
"Sakes alive!" or "Mercy on us!" But the old lady did nothing of the
sort.

She set her basket down on the ground; and pushing her spectacles forward
to the end of her nose, she leaned over and looked closely at Henrietta