Now Bobby had hoed in it and dug in it so much just the day before, that it was very soft and just beau-ti-ful for scratching.
"What good luck!" thought the Old Brown Hen. "A finer place for scratching I never saw."
"Cluck, cluck, cluck!" she called; and her thirteen chicks came running, and she scratched all over the onion bed, to find something for them to eat.
And all the little onion plants were scratched up.
Then, because they had eaten all they wanted, she wallowed in the soft earth until she had made a nice, comfortable place to sit.
There she sat, in the middle of Bobby's onion bed, and the thirteen chicks went under her wings to have a mid-day nap.
The Old Brown Hen went to sleep, too.
Soon the family came home. As they drove into the yard, Mother spied her pansy bed and cried, "Somebody has been digging in my garden and has dug all my little pansy plants up."
Next, they came to the big garden, and when Father saw his radish bed