The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly Read Free

case it’s dangerous to stay here. Just go. I’m late. Everyone will be in bed.” The mallard waddled on, looking tired.
    Sprout glanced back at the weasel and hurried after the mallard. “How did you know I was in the grave?”
    â€œOn my way back from the reservoir I saw the weasel hanging around, which meant there was still a hen alive in the Hole of Death. I know that awful creature!” The mallard shuddered again, his neck feathers trembling. “He’s really something—he always hunts the living. And he’s big—bigger than any of the other ones. He hunts the living to show how powerful he is. A living hen like you is good prey. He gets what he’s after from time to time. You were lucky.”
    â€œThat’s right, I was lucky. It’s all thanks to you.” Sprout trotted right behind the mallard. Hearing that she was good prey made her feathers stand on end.
    â€œI’ve never met a hen like you. It’s good that you made a racket. The weasel must have been wondering how he could snatch such feisty prey.” The mallard laughed gleefully and looked back at the grave.
    There was the weasel, still standing there studying them. Sprout quickly averted her eyes, but the mallard was unruffled. “I’m sure you’ll meet him again. That one doesn’t give up.”
    â€œReally?” Sprout sputtered.
    â€œI think you’re the first hen to come out of there alive.”
    â€œBut I was never dead,” Sprout murmured.
    The mallard continued on his way. They passed under the acacia tree. “Where will you go?” he asked.
    Sprout hesitated. “Well . . . I don’t have the tiniest desire to go back to the coop.”
    â€œYou already said that.”
    â€œRiiight, I did.” Sprout hoped the mallard would help her out. “Um, couldn’t you take me with you?”
    â€œWhere? Into the barn?” The mallard shook his head. Sprout had put him on the spot. But, perhaps feeling sorry for her, he didn’t say no right away. “I’m not from here. But you’re a hen, so maybe . . .” The mallard led her to the barn, where the animals slept at night.

 
INTO THE BARN
    T he old dog was stretched out on the ground with only his rear in his house. His eyes half-closed, he was on his way to dreamland. But when he caught sight of the mallard and a scrawny, soaking-wet chicken missing all her neck feathers, his eyes grew large. “What a terrible smell!” the dog growled, stepping forward.
    Sprout sidled closer to the mallard.
    â€œNo need to do that. It’s just a hen,” the mallard said gently so as not to offend the dog.
    The dog frowned and circled Sprout, as though waiting for a chance to snatch her up in his jaws. “I can’t let just anyone by. I’m an excellent guard!” The dog bared his teeth.
    Hearing the commotion, several ducks stuck their heads out of the barn. “So he didn’t leave after all?” one duck groused.
    â€œOh, no,” another duck lamented. “What’s he dragged in?”
    â€œWhat a mess! A plucked chicken. It must have run away from the weasel’s dinner table.”
    The ducks quacked with laughter.
    The mallard was quiet, but his feathers stood on end and trembled. Sprout felt sorry that he was the butt of their jokes.
    â€œHey, Straggler!” a duck called. “You’re too much of a burden for us as it is. And now you’ve dragged some sick chicken along with you?”
    â€œShoo her away! She’ll infect us all.”
    In chorus, the brace of ducks agreed that Sprout should leave immediately.
    The dog growled triumphantly, “Got it? Don’t you even think about hanging around here.”
    Sprout was cowed. But she had nowhere else to go. She remained right behind Straggler. “I won’t get anyone sick. I won’t bother anyone,” she said, sniffling. The yard