Pippa stepped into the sunny coop and froze with one foot in the straw.
"Oh," peeped Pippa, very softly.
An older hen walked over and tapped the straw beside her with a gentle wing.
"This way, Pippa," said the hen, leading her past the straw nests.
Out in the pecking yard, the grain tin rattled and the water dish shone. Pippa stayed close.
"This way, Pippa." The scratch-scratch under her feet sounded crunchy, and her peeps came a little louder.
When Pippa tripped over a straw stem, the hen steadied it with her beak and kept going.
By the shady patch, the hen nudged a smooth pebble, a soft feather, and a cool place in the dust toward her.
Pippa patted the cool pebble, tucked the feather near her nest, and settled into the shade.
Then a puff of wind flipped the feather onto the hen's head like a silly hat, and Pippa peep-laughed.
Clatter! The grain scoop banged against the tin, and Pippa jumped back toward the henhouse door.
The hen stepped beside her, tapped the ground twice, and said, "Come on, Pippa."
The tin gave one last bonk. Pippa took one careful step, then another, and followed.
As the sun turned gold, Pippa curled into a straw nest she had helped fluff.
The hen dropped the little feather beside her and settled nearby.
“Goodnight,” peeped Pippa. The yard, the shady patch, and the shining dish all felt softer now. She tucked the feather close and closed her eyes, ready for tomorrow.
