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Phoebe Pheasant's dew-wet feet hurried along the edge of the Sunny Meadow. Mr. Merry Sun hadn't been up long enough to dry the grass, for it was very early in the morning.

In some places the dew had turned to frost, but the little pheasant didn't mind that in the least, for she is a hardy bird, and not a bit afraid of cold weather.

The weather is about the only thing she isn't afraid of, for she is very timid. Although she sometimes went to the Old Farmyard for breakfast, at the slightest noise she would fly away.