Strange to say, Grumpy Weasel was trying to be pleasant. Of course he didn't really know how, for he always practiced being surly and rude. It must be confessed, too, that he had succeeded in making himself heartily disliked by everybody that knew him.
There were a few, however, who had yet to learn of Grumpy Weasel's bad traits. Among these was a foolish, fat hen who lived in Farmer Green's henhouse. And now Grumpy Weasel was doing his best to make a good impression on her.
It is no wonder, perhaps, that this lady was unaware of her caller's real nature. For Grumpy was careful, as a rule, to visit the farmyard only after dark. And being a person of quiet habits Mrs. Hen was always abed and asleep at that time.
Grumpy found it a bit difficult to chat with Mrs. Hen because old dog Spot was sprawled on the farmhouse steps; and naturally Grumpy felt like keeping one eye on him. But the other he turned, as well as he could, on Mrs. Hen, who was in the henyard looking for worms. Just outside the wire fence Grumpy Weasel crouched and told Mrs. Hen how well she was looking.
His pretty speeches pleased Mrs. Hen so much that she actually let a fat angleworm get away from her because she hadn't her mind on what she was doing. She noticed meanwhile that one of her neighbors was making frantic motions, as if she had something important to say. So Mrs. Hen sauntered across the henyard to find out what it was.
"Don't you know whom you're talking to?" the neighbor demanded in a loud whisper. "That's Grumpy Weasel—the worst rascal in all these parts."
Somehow that sent a pleasant flutter of excitement through Mrs. Hen. At the same time she couldn't quite believe the news, because her caller had said such very pleasant things.
"Don't worry!" she told her neighbor. "I'm old enough to look out for myself."
"I should say so!" her neighbor cried. "You're three years old if you're a day!"
"I'm not!" Mrs. Hen retorted. "I'm only two and a half." Her feathers were all ruffled up and she went straight back and told Grumpy Weasel what her neighbor had said about him.
"You don't believe that, I hope," Grumpy ventured.
Mrs. Hen clucked and tried to look wise. And at last she confided to Grumpy that her neighbor was a jealous creature and sure to speak ill of a stranger who came to call on anybody but herself.
Well, Grumpy Weasel told Mrs. Hen that he knew, when he first set eyes on her, that she was a sensible little body.
"You've a snug home here," he went on. "I can tell you that I'd like such a place to crawl into on a chilly, wet night." And though it was a warm, fine summer's day he shivered and shook, so Mrs. Hen could see.
And silly Mrs. Hen couldn't help feeling sorry for him.