This was not the end of his good deeds; and the last was the best of all, though it cost him his life. He ruled for some years, and kept his kingdom in good order; for no one would kill him, when many of the other fowls were taken for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. But he did die at last; and even then he was good and brave, as you shall hear. One of the boys wanted to smoke a pipe, and went behind the hen-house, so nobody should see him do such a silly thing. He thought he heard his father coming, and hid the pipe under the house. Some straw and dry leaves lay about, and took fire, setting the place in a blaze; for the boy ran away when he saw the mischief he had done, and the fire got to burning nicely before the cries of the poor hens called people to help. The door was locked, and could not be opened, because the key was in the pocket of the naughty boy; so the farmer got an axe and chopped down the wall, letting the poor biddies fly out, squawking and smoking. "Where is Cocky?" cried the other boy, as he counted the hens and missed the king of the farmyard. "Burnt up, I'm afraid," said the farmer, who was throwing water on the flames. Alas! yes, he was: for when the fire was out they found good old Cocky sitting on a nest, with his wide wings spread over some little chicks whose mother had left them. They were too small to run away, and sat chirping sadly till Cocky covered and kept them safe, though the smoke choked _him_ to death. Every one was very sorry; and the children gave the good bird a fine funeral, and buried him in the middle of the field, with a green mound over him, and a white stone, on which was written,-- Here lies the bravest cock that ever crew: We mourn for him with sorrow true. Now nevermore at dawn his music shall we hear, Waking the world like trumpet shrill and clear. The hens all hang their heads, the chickens sadly peep; The boys look sober, and the girls all weep. Good-by, dear Cocky: sleep and rest, With grass and daisies on your faithful breast; And when you wake, brave bird, so good and true, Clap your white wings and crow, "Cock-a-doodle-doo." [Illustration: The lion walked awhile to rest himself.] VI. ROSY'S JOURNEY. Rosy was a nice little girl who lived with her mother in a small house in the woods. They were very poor, for the father had gone away to dig gold, and did not come back; so they had to work hard to get food to eat and clothes to wear. The mother spun yarn when she was able, for she was often sick, and Rosy did all she could to help. She milked the red cow and fed the hens; dug the garden, and went to town to sell the yarn and the eggs.