/> he went as fast as his four short legs could carry him.



The garden was full of flowers. There were pansies, and daisies, and

violets, and honeysuckles, and all the bright flowers that you can

name. Everything was in the proper place. There were tulips on either

side of the garden walk, and hollyhocks stood in a straight row against

the fence. The pansies had a garden bed all to themselves, and the

young vines were just beginning to climb up on the frame that the

gardener had made for their special benefit.



"Umph, umph, nice place," said the little pig; and he put his nose down

in the pansy bed and began to root up the pansies, for he thought that

was the way to behave in a garden.



While he was enjoying himself there the brown hen came down the road

with her family. She had thirteen children, and she was looking for a

nice rich spot where they might scratch for their breakfast. When she

saw the open gate she was delighted.



"Cluck, cluck, come on," she said to her chicks.



"Peep, peep, peep," said the little chickens, "is it a worm?"



"It is a beautiful garden, and there is nothing that I like better than

to scratch in a garden," answered the hen, as she bustled through the

gate. The chickens followed her, and soon they were all busy scratching

among the violets.



They had not been there very long when the red cow walked by the

garden. She was on her way to the Pond, but when she saw the open

garden gate she decided at once to go in.



"Moo, moo," she said, "this is delightful. Tender flowers are such a

treat." And she swished her tail over her back as she nipped the

daisies from their stems.



"Cluck," said the hen, "Peep," said the chicks, "Umph," said the little

pig, for they were pleased to have company. While they were talking a

rabbit with very bright eyes peeped in at the gate.



"Oh, is it a party?" he said when he saw the red cow, and the pig with

a curly tail, and the hen and chickens.



"Come in," said the pig, "and help yourself. There is plenty of room."

So the rabbit hopped into the garden and nibbled the green leaves and

the young vines.



"How many of us are here?" asked the red cow, but before any of them

could count, the gardener came home.



When he looked into the garden he began to cry: "Oh, my pretty

pansies! my dear daisies! my sweet violets! my tender young vines!"



"What is he talking about?" said the chickens.



"I suppose he wants us to go out," answered the hen; and she ruffled

her feathers and quarreled as the gardener came hurrying toward them.



Then the cow ran one way and the pig ran another. The little chickens

got lost in the bushes, and the rabbit hid in the vines. The hen

cackled, and the pig squealed, and the gardener scolded. By the time

he had driven them all out of the garden the sun was high in the sky.



"Umph, umph," cried the little pig, as he scampered down the road, "we

will all come back to-morrow."



But when they went back the next day the garden gate was fastened

close, and not even the smallest chicken could get inside.



[D] From "More Winter Stories," by Maud Lindsay; used by

permission of the publishers, Milton Bradley Company, Springfield,

Mass.