Theo and the Morning Eggs

Theo was the only farmer in the whole valley who got up before the rooster. He did it on purpose, because the rooster was very loud.

"Eggs first," Theo whispered, pulling on his boots. "Then breakfast."

He took his basket and tiptoed to the hen house. Five brown hens sat in a row, fluffed up like warm cushions. Theo wanted five eggs, one for each bowl on the kitchen table. Mum was making porridge, and she had asked for them.

But when he peeked under the first hen, there was nothing. Not one egg.

"Where are they?" said Theo.

"Bok," said the first hen, and looked away.

He checked under the second hen. Nothing. The third, the fourth, the fifth. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Theo scratched his head. He looked in the straw. He looked in the water bucket. He looked behind the sack of corn. The basket stayed empty.

"Where are they?" he said again.

Then he tried something different. He sat down on an upturned crate, very still, and listened.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It came from the garden, just past the gate. Theo followed the sound between the beans and the bees, who were only starting to wake up. Tap, tap, tap. It was coming from the big green pumpkin leaves.

He lifted a leaf. There sat the speckled hen, Biscuit, and under her tail lay five round, warm eggs in a tidy nest.

"Oh, Biscuit," said Theo. "You hid them all!"

"Bok," said Biscuit proudly. She stood up, and one egg wobbled and rolled right into his hand. The tapping started again. It was the last egg, and a small beak was poking through.

Theo held very still. Crack! A wet, fluffy chick tumbled out and sat on his boot.

"Well," Theo whispered, "now we have a sixth bowl."

He carried the basket home, the chick peeping inside it. Behind him the rooster began to crow, and for once Theo didn't mind at all.