And leaning out on both sides from the crooked ladders were vines of yellow roses, leaning, curving, nearly falling. Hatrack the Horse was waiting. This was the morning Wiffle the Chick was coming. “Sit here on the cracker box and listen,” he said to her when she came; “listen and you will hear the roses saying, ‘This is climbing time for all yellow roses and climbing time is the time to climb; how did we ever learn to climb only by climbing? Listen and you will hear—st..th..st..th..st..th..it is the feet of the yellow roses climbing up and down and leaning out and curving and nearly falling ..st..th..st..th..’” So Wiffle the Chick sat there, early in the summer, enjoying herself, sitting on a cracker box, listening to the yellow roses climb around the six crooked ladders. Hatrack the Horse came out. On his shoulders were two pigeons, on his hands two pigeons. And he reached his hand around behind his back where his hat was hanging and he opened the hat and showed Wiffle the Chick two pigeons in the hat. “They are lovely pigeons to look at and their eyes are full of lessons to learn,” said Wiffle the Chick. “Maybe you will tell me why you have their feet wrapped in bandages, hospital liniment bandages full of hospital liniment smells? Why do you put soft mittens on the feet of these pigeons so lovely to look at?” “They came back yesterday, they came back home,” was the answer. “They came back limping on their feet with the toes turned in so far they nearly turned backward. When they put their bleeding feet in my hands one by one each one, it was like each one was writing his name in my hand with red ink.” “Did you know they were coming?” asked Wiffle. “Every day the last six days I get a telegram, six telegrams from six pigeons—and at last they come home. And ever since they come home they are telling me they come because they love Hatrack the Horse and the yellow climbing roses climbing over the six crooked ladders.” “Did you name your pigeons with names?” asked Wiffle. “These three, the sandy and golden brown, all named themselves by where they came from. This is Chickamauga, here is Chattanooga, and this is Chattahoochee. And the other three all got their names from me when I was feeling high and easy. This is Blue Mist, here is Bubbles, and last of all take a look at Wednesday Evening in the Twilight and the Gloaming.” “Do you always call her Wednesday Evening in the Twilight and the Gloaming?” “Not when I am making coffee for breakfast. If I am making coffee for breakfast then I just call her Wednesday Evening.” “Didn’t you tie the mittens on her feet extra special nice?”