During the days that followed it was very cold and the wind howled. Old Speck and the chick kept quiet; and the wise old hen told him of the outside world into which they should soon go, and of its many dangers and deceits, all of which should have terrified so young a chicken, and made him keep close to his mother.
But this one was not terrified, and he longed for the time when they should go forth from the box and see all these strange and terrible things about which his mother had been telling him.
He did not think that Red Tail, the hawk, could get him,—not if he saw him coming; and he would always know when Whiteplume was about by the smell. He would keep his eye out for Sly-boy, whom his mother described as so terrible. The rats and the cats had not got him yet, and he did not believe that they could.
And as for Lord Reynard, who lived in the woods beyond the meadow, and who had carried his great-grandfather off one night, notwithstanding that he was a large rooster—well, that was a long time ago, and such things did not happen now; anyhow, Lord Reynard would not want a small chicken, and when he got larger he would look out for him.
At last the longed-for day came. It was about the first of April: the winds were still cold, but the snow was all gone, and there was a touch of green on the lawns along the sunny south sides. Dandelion had not yet lifted up
