cheering and waving of paws and claws and hoofs and handkerchiefs, Ferdinand, perched on the dash-board, never even opened his eyes.
CHAPTER IV
FERDINAND RETURNS
Life on the farm went along quietly all that summer. As the fame of Barnyard Tours, Inc., increased, more and more animals kept coming to inquire about trips, and Charles, the rooster, was kept very busy in the office from early morning till late at night, answering questions and making up parties. After the first week nothing was heard of the explorers until fall, when the birds began to fly past on their way south for the winter. Then an occasional woodpecker or white-throat would swoop down into the big elm and deliver a message. The animals learned that everything was going well; that Freddy had had a bad cold, but was better; that Ferdinand had had a fight with a gang of thieving blue jays and had beaten them badly; that the expedition had high hopes of reaching the pole before Christmas, in which case they would be back home by midsummer.
The winter came and passed without more news. In the spring two chickadees who had been living in the elm since October announced that they were starting for the north, and agreed, in return for the grain and bits of suet with which Charles had fed them all winter, to come back if they learned anything of the wanderers and give their report before going ahead with the house that they planned to build that spring in Labrador. But the chickadees did not come back. They might, of course, have been caught and eaten by hawks or cats. They might have decided that it was too far to come all the way back to the farm, just to tell the animals that their friends were well. But still they hadn’t come back, and the animals worried. Every day Charles sent one of his eight daughters, who were growing up now into long-legged noisy chickens, with manners that were the despair of Henrietta, their mother, to perch on the gatepost and watch the road for the first sign of the returning travellers. But July passed, August passed, and no one came.
And then at last the animals decided that something must be done. It was Mrs. Wiggins who really got things going. “I just can’t sleep nights,” she complained, “for thinking of those dear friends away off up there in the cold and the snow, maybe without anything to eat, and my own dear sister, Mrs. Wogus, with them; and her little girl, Marietta, sobbing herself to sleep every night because she wants her mother back. We’ve got to do something, and we’re going to do something. Even if I have to go alone, I’m going to start out and find them. If anyone else wants to come along, he can, but I’m going anyway.”
“A very laudable resolve, Mrs. Wiggins,” said Charles. “A very brave and noble resolution. I’ve been thinking myself for some time that a rescue party should be formed.”
“Then why didn’t you say something about it?” Mrs. Wiggins demanded. She knew perfectly well that the idea had never occurred to the rooster.
“I thought it best to wait,” replied Charles with dignity, “until we were really sure that something hadn’t gone wrong. We’d look rather foolish starting out to rescue them and then meeting them half a mile down the road, wouldn’t we?”
“There are some things worse than looking foolish,” snapped Mrs. Wiggins, “though no selfish, stuck-up rooster would ever know it.”
“I take no offence at your words,” said Charles, “since I realize the anxiety that you must be feeling, and that, after all, I share with you. Certainly, though, you won’t be permitted to go on this quest alone. I’m sure that every animal in the barnyard will want to take part. Personally—”
“They can do as they please,” Mrs. Wiggins interrupted. “I start tomorrow morning.” And she turned her back on Charles and went on moodily chewing her cud.
But the next morning when she came out of the cow-shed, firm in her resolve to start for the north without delay, she was surprised to find a great crowd of animals of all kinds waiting for her. The afternoon before, Charles had sent his eight daughters and his seven sons round to all the farms in the neighbourhood to call for volunteers for the rescue party, and as all the adventurers except Ferdinand were very popular, nearly every animal who could get away had agreed to go. There they were, waiting, and as Mrs. Wiggins came out they gave a cheer that brought the night-capped heads of Mr. and Mrs. Bean to the window.
“What’s all this?” asked Mrs. Wiggins as the animals crowded around her.
Charles stepped forward and explained. “Of course,” he said, “we can’t all go, for there are nearly a hundred of us volunteers here, and the rescue party shouldn’t consist of more than ten or fifteen. Some of us, therefore, will have to resign the privilege of engaging in this glorious venture and remain at home, disappointed, but happy in the knowledge that in volunteering we have done our manifest duty. In order to avoid the embarrassment which any of you may feel in dropping out now,” he went on, turning to the crowd of animals, “I will set the example by voluntarily withdrawing from the rescue party. Much as my heart has been set on it, eagerly as I have looked forward to this venture, I shall yet be able with dry eyes to watch the departure of the devoted band among whom I had hoped to number myself, since I shall—”
But the speech was never finished, for with an angry clucking Henrietta, his wife, pushed her way through the circle of curious animals. “What’s all this I hear?” she demanded. “Not going, did you say? Well, just let me see you try to stay at home! You’ll wish you’d never been hatched, that’s all I’ve got to say! To desert your friends when they’re in want and danger—I never heard such cowardly nonsense! You’re going, and, what’s more, I’m going with you, to see there’s no shirking.”
“Tut, tut, my dear,” said Charles in a whisper. “You don’t understand. Of course I’m going. But all these animals can’t go, and I was merely—”
But Henrietta cuffed him aside with her wing. “You be quiet, young man, if you know what’s good for you.—And now, Mrs. Wiggins,” she went on, “I take it what you want is to get started as soon as possible. If we let my husband do any more talking, we shan’t get started for a week. What I suggest is that you select the animals you want to have with you on this trip yourself. Isn’t that fair, animals?”
They all agreed and formed a long line, which went twice around the barnyard and out into the road, and Mrs. Wiggins walked up and down and tried to make her choice, but all the animals wanted to go so badly that she didn’t have the heart to dismiss any of them, and finally she got so mixed up and confused that she just sat down in the middle of the barnyard and cried.
Mrs. Wiggins didn’t have much of an education, but she had a good heart, and all the animals were very fond of her, so they all crowded round to try to cheer her up. But there were so many of them that those on the outside of the crowd who couldn’t get near her began to push, and then the ones they had pushed got angry and pushed back, and pretty soon the whole barnyard was a mob of angry animals, growling and pushing and shoving, and in the middle, almost smothered, was Mrs. Wiggins.
Goodness knows what might have happened if at that moment Charles’s eldest daughter, Leah, whose turn it was to sit on the fence and watch the road, hadn’t come dashing into the yard with the news that she thought she had seen Ferdinand away off up the road. At once all the animals disentangled themselves and rushed out the gate, and, sure enough, a quarter of a mile up the road they saw a small black figure coming slowly towards them. It limped, and one wing hung down and trailed in the dust, but it was certainly a crow, and as it came nearer, they saw that it was indeed Ferdinand.
The animals surrounded him and nearly deafened him with questions. Since he couldn’t have been heard if he had tried to answer, he simply trudged along through the gate, across the yard, and into the barn, where he took a long drink from the watering-trough, then came outside and raised his claw for silence.
“My friends,” he said when his audience had stopped whispering and shuffling and trying to edge themselves into a better position, “I have been on the road for nearly two months, walking all the time, for, as you see, my wing is broken. To tell you all that has happened is too long a story, for I have come back to get help, and we must start at once. But three months ago we had reached the Arctic Ocean.