hundreds of people all over the country saying: “Look! Look! Here’s that wonderful cat that went to the north pole! Isn’t he a beauty?” But all he said was: “Well, when do we start?”
“No reason to wait,” said Freddy. “We’ll go talk to the others right now.” And by bedtime Robert, the dog, and Hank, the old white horse, and Mrs. Wogus, who was Mrs. Wiggins’s sister, and Ferdinand, the sarcastic old crow, had all agreed to go. Some of the other animals they asked refused. Mrs. Wiggins said no, she was too old and she liked her comfort too much to go traipsing off into the wilds. Charles, the rooster, wanted very much to go, but his wife Henrietta wouldn’t hear of it. The general feeling in the barnyard seemed to be that it was very foolish to leave comfortable homes to explore a country that consisted of nothing but snow and ice, that was certainly uncomfortable and probably dangerous.
But none of these sensible arguments could persuade the six adventurers, who, like all the brave spirits who have made history and sailed unknown seas and charted unknown continents in the past, cared less for ease than for glory and laughed at danger and hardship.
And so on a bright morning a week later they set out on their perilous journey. First came Hank, the old white horse, harnessed to the rickety phaeton that they had brought back from their trip to Florida. Inside the phaeton rode Freddy and Jinx, but there wasn’t much room even for them, for most of the space was taken up with piles of cast-off blankets and old overcoats which they had gathered, with the help of their friends, from all the neighbouring farms and with which they planned to keep warm in the polar regions. Behind the phaeton walked Mrs. Wogus, and when it went up a hill, she helped Hank by putting her forehead against the back of the vehicle and pushing. Robert ran alongside, and Ferdinand, who had rather a sour disposition, sat on the dash-board, with his eyes shut, looking very bored and weary, as they drove out of the yard.
The Beans, of course, knew nothing about the trip, but when they heard the commotion outside, they jumped up from their breakfast and ran out on the porch.
“Why, I do believe,” said Mrs. Bean, “that they’re starting out on another trip! Well, well, will wonders never cease?”
“So they are, Mrs. B.,” replied her husband. “Now I wonder where they’re off to this time. Consarn it, I wish we could talk animal talk; then we’d know. But hey, Hank!” he called. “Wait a minute! Whoa! Back up there!” And as Hank stopped obediently, Mr. Bean dashed into the house and presently returned with his second-best night-cap, a white one with a red tassel, which he tied to the top of the phaeton. “There,” he said, “now you’ve got a flag. Good-bye, animals! Have a good time, and remember there’s a good home and a warm welcome waiting for you when you get tired of the road.”
“Good-bye!” called Mrs. Bean. “Be careful about automobiles and don’t sit in draughts or get under trees in thunder-storms or stay up too late nights or—” But the rest of her advice was drowned in the cheers of the animals who were staying behind, as the little procession marched out of the gate, with the standard of the house of Bean waving above them.
But, for all the 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
