great uproar in the chicken house. But Farmer
Green paid no attention to that--supposing, of course, that it was
merely because of the fright the hawk had given the hens.

For once there was more noise than even Jasper Jay liked. It appeared
that there was a bold young rooster in the chicken house. And he
objected to Jasper Jay's presence.

"What do you mean by coming in here where you're not wanted?" he
screamed. "Where are your manners?"

Actually, Jasper Jay wondered what the rooster was talking about. Never
having had any manners, Jasper didn't know the meaning of the word. And
since he could not answer, he said nothing.

"Stick your spurs into him and maybe he'll speak!" screeched a pert
young hen.

Jasper looked at the rooster then; and he saw that the brazen fellow
wore long, sharp spurs upon his legs. They looked almost as wicked as
Mr. Hawk's cruel talons.

"Please," said Jasper, "I've come in to get out of the way of Mr. Hawk."

"Ha!" cried the rooster. "Unless I'm mistaken you're the rogue that's
always frightening the ladies by screaming like Mr. Hawk. So I don't
see why you should object to his society."

"I was only fooling," Jasper Jay whined. "I meant no harm, you know. Let
me stay here a while and I promise you I won't bother the hens again."

"I accept your apology, as well as your promise," the rooster replied
with great dignity. And then he began crowing in a manner that was most
annoying to Jasper Jay. It was the same as saying, "This rascal's afraid
of me!"

That was true, too. And that was what made the crowing sound so
unpleasant in Jasper's ears.

He left as soon as he dared show himself out of doors. And he sometimes
remarked afterward that a chicken house wouldn't be a bad place to live
in, after all, if it weren't for the roosters.

"They boast too much," said Jasper Jay. "Nothing could induce me to
listen to their silly crowing. And to tell the truth, I don't see how
the hens manage to stand it."

X

THE NUTTING PARTY

FOR a long time Jasper Jay had been waiting for something. It was fall;
and he impatiently watched the tree-tops on the side of Blue Mountain
change from their quiet summer green to hues of flaming gold and red.
Though they were beautiful, to tell the truth Jasper did not in the
least care what color a tree was. So long as it bore nuts, he was
satisfied. And to him the turning leaves meant only that the autumn was
lengthening--and the nuts were gro