Hen. Aunt Polly's gaze travelled over Henrietta from head to foot and
then back again. And she took hold of one of Henrietta's feathers and
gave it a gentle twitch.

"Look out!" Henrietta cried. "You'll pull it out if you're not careful.
And I can't afford to lose any more feathers than I have to."

"Don't worry!" Aunt Polly Woodchuck advised her. "Cheer up! There's
nothing the matter with you. You are molting. You are going to get a new
outfit of feathers for winter. Your old ones have to fall out in order to
make room for the new. And no doubt the fresh ones will be much handsomer
than the old."

Henrietta couldn't believe that Aunt Polly knew what she was talking
about.

"I can't be molting as early in the fall as this," she protested. "I've
never got my winter feathers so soon.... I fear you're mistaken," she
told Aunt Polly.

"Oh, no! I'm not mistaken," Aunt Polly Woodchuck insisted. "I know it's
early for molting--but haven't you noticed that the wheat grew big this
year, and that the bark on young trees is thick? And haven't you observed
that Frisky Squirrel is laying up a great store of nuts in his hollow
tree, and that the hornets built their paper houses far from the ground
this summer?"

Henrietta Hen's mouth fell open as she stared at Aunt Polly Woodchuck.
And when the old lady paused, Henrietta looked quite bewildered.