Explore "Phoebe Pheasant" by David Cory on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
LITTLE 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.