In Which We Meet a Chicken

For those of you who did not read the previous story (although I certainly do not know why not), I shall once again introduce Cecil, our curly-headed hero of this series. Reader, this is Cecil. Cecil, meet Reader. There.
The former two-year-old was three, and had picked up many useful words (such as 'hungry', and 'cookie') in the adults' barbaric tongue. However, he still retained his natural linguistic skill of speaking with the amimal world.
On this particular day in May, on which we pick up our story, Cecil (whom his friend called Ce, if you will remember) was arriving home from various errands with his mother. As soon as she opened the door, he rushed up the stairs (which were no longer a source of fright), mindful of a certain piece of cheese in his pocket and a patient mouse waiting in sweet, cheesy dreams up in his room. Upon arriving there, imagine Ce's surprise when he found the cage quite empty! Inspection proved there to be a lengthy note in the carefully dug out woodshaving home. Not being able to read, Ce looked at the letter and recognised nothing ut the very familiar signature of Sir Francis at the bottom of the last page.
"This is a dilemna," Ce said to himself. "And what shall I do? since I cannot read this."
At this opportune moment, who should fly in through the open window on an errand of state but the resident owl (whose name was not Snowy, but Archibald). Ce listened to his petition (a request from the crows asking that Ce appeal to his mother and father to cease chasing them away from the garden). Afterwards he asked that the note be read aloud, on the promise that he would look into the crows' request. Archibald obliged. The note ran as follows:
"My very dear Cecil," it began, "I sincerely hope this finds you well, though that is merely a formality, as a note cannot really find anyone in any state at all. But I digress. By the time you get this (as close as my calculations can make it), I am sure you will be curious as to my whereabouts, and well you might. I must confess, I myself will probably be curious as well, seeing that - but explanations frst.
"As you know, I once accompanied a knight on his travels lang syne (and a most excellent knight he was, and travels to match. We went all over Europe, from Spain to Germany, and I would have to say that, all things considered, France was most likely my favorite. Why, you may ask? Well,
Two pages ommited.
"... and those days were certainly most glorious. In fact, once we did run into a - no, for your sake I shall stick directly to the point, no rabbit-trailing and such. That being, excluding all other reasons such as...
Several pages ommited, Sir Francis' idea of "the point" evidently being quite different from the desireable one at this time.
"...I have decided to travel once again. Being a rather small animal, I will most likely limit myself to this city. And so, I bid you fond farewell. As always, I remain
Sir Francis."
When Ce awoke from his shock, the owl had long since flown. At once, sensing the urgency of the situation, Ce set about preparing for a search.
The next day, all was prepared. Ce set out on the pretense of going to play with another child his own age, and began roaming the streets in search of clues to the mouse's whereabouts.

* * *
A few hours later, a lone chicken strutted down a shadowy alleyway and came upon a dejected and lonesome boy. The good fowl was struck to the heart, sat her plump personage down next to him, and began questioning him. After about five minutes, the chicken had extracted from Cecil (for indeed it was he, as you, dear Reader, may have suspected) his business in those parts and met with his ears some good news.
"Why, I saw the very mouse just ten very minutes ago on the very sidewalk, down this very street."
At these wonderful words of encouragement, Ce sprang to his feet and rushed off, profusely thanking the flustered hen in the process.
Sure enough, when he got to the aforementioned bit of sidewalk, one lonely and dejected mouse was in evidence. Ce shouted an enthusiastic greeting and rushed at him. The aged mouse waved and smiled to his tiptoes. After a friendly reunion, they returned home paw in... well, toe. Indeed, it took quite a few hours to arrive there, allowing for Sir Francis' height, or lack thereof, since he blatantly refused to be carried. But eventually they did complete their journey, and from then on Sir Francis was more or less content with the extent of his travels being a sojourn on Cecil's rug.

Please review, I hope these two stories have served to entertain you.