The Muley Cow,
who went to the pasture every day, mentioned Aunt Polly's name to
Henrietta. According to the Muley Cow, Aunt Polly Woodchuck was an herb
doctor--and a good one, too. No matter what might be troubling a person,
Aunt Polly was sure to have something right in her basket to cure it.

"I'd like to see her," Henrietta Hen had said. "But I can't go way up in
the pasture, under the hill."

"Could you go to the end of the lane?" the Muley Cow inquired.

"Yes!"

"Then I'll ask Aunt Polly Woodchuck to meet you by the bars to-morrow
morning," the Muley Cow promised.

That suited Henrietta Hen.

"I'll be there--if it doesn't rain," she agreed.

Early the next day she followed the cows through the lane. And she hadn't
waited long at the bars when Aunt Polly Woodchuck came hobbling up to
her. Being a very old lady, Aunt Polly was somewhat lame. But she was
spry, for all that. And her eyes were as bright as buttons.

Henrietta Hen saw at once that Aunt Polly was hopelessly old-fashioned.
She carried a basket on her arm, and a stick in her hand.

"Well, well, dearie! Here you are!" cried Aunt Polly Woodchuck. "The
Muley Cow tells me you're feeling poorly. Do tell me all about yourself!
No doubt I've something in my basket that will do you a world of good."

[Illustration: "Don't Worry!" Said Aunt Polly Woodchuck. (_Page 91_)]

XIX

AUNT POLLY HELPS

Somehow Henrietta Hen couldn't help liking Aunt Polly Woodchuck, in spite
of her old-fashioned appearance. She certainly had a way with her--a way
that made a person _want_ to tell her his troubles.

"I don't know whether you can help me or not," said Henrietta Hen. "Have
you any feathers in your basket?"

"No--no! No feathers!" Aunt Polly replied. "I use herbs in my business of
doctoring. But I've heard that a burnt feather held under a body's nose
will do wonders sometimes.... I must always carry a feather in my basket,
hereafter."

"_One_ feather wouldn't do me any good," said Henrietta Hen with a
doleful sigh. "I need a great many more than one."

"You do?" Aunt Polly cried.

"Yes!" Henrietta answered. "Half my feathers have dropped off me. And
that's why I've come to ask your advice. I'm fast losing my fatal
beauty."

Henrietta Hen's voice trembled as she told Aunt Polly Woodchuck the
dreadful news. "I don't believe you'll be able to help me," she quavered.
"I'll soon look like a perfect fright. Besides, winter's coming; and how
I'll eve