No wonder I drooped and ceased my cheerful song.
The days when I was put out of doors were indeed gala days to me.

Many families of young chickens lived in the back yard, and the pipings of the little ones and the scoldings of the mothers when their children ran too far away from them, were always amusing to listen to and gave me something to think about which kept my mind off my own troubles.
I liked to watch the hens with their fuzzy broods tumbling about them, or with the older chicks when they scratched the ground and ceaselessly clucked for them to come to get their share of what was turned up in the soil; meanwhile they kept a sharp lookout with their bright eyes to see that no outsider shared in the feast.

And how angrily did they drive it away should a chick from another brood heedlessly rush in among them to get a taste.
One old hen in particular interested me very much.

I noticed her first because of her pretty bluish color and the dark markings around her neck, but I soon came to pity her, for she made herself quite unhappy and seemed to take no comfort in anything.

She was usually tied to a tree by the leg, and although her string was long it seemed always just a little too short to reach the thing she wanted.