Free The Secret Hen House Theatre by Helen Peters

attack!” hissed Jo.
    Jasper sat down.
    “Stop playing games!” cried Hannah. “This is serious. We have to stop them.” She looked around the yard wildly. “Where’s Dad?”
    “All done,” shouted the man on the other side of the lorry.
    Suddenly Martha jumped up and down in her sparkly heels. “I know! Stand in front of the lorry. All of us, in a line. Then they can’t move.”
    Hannah stared at Martha in amazement. “Genius!” she said. “Come on!”
    As one person, they sprinted to the front of the lorry. Then Jo turned around. “Where’s Sam?”
    Hannah stopped in her tracks. Where was Sam?
    The lorry’s engine cut out.
    Everybody looked up at the cab. And there was Sam, bouncing up and down on the driver’s seat, throwing his head back and laughing, waving the ignition key in his hand.
    Hannah laughed in delight. Jo and Martha cheered.
    “Sam!” shouted Lottie. “That’s fantastic!”
    “You cheeky blighter!” yelled the tattooed driver. “Get out of my cab!”
    Sam pushed the key deep into his jeans pocket and climbed down the steps. The others ran round to meet him.
    “Come here, Sammy,” said Hannah. She lifted him off the steps and gave him a huge squeeze. “Well done! You’re brilliant.”
    Jasper nuzzled Sam in approval and Sam ruffled his wool.
    The driver barged through the children and held an oily hand out to Sam. “Right, sonny boy, stop horsing around and give us that key.”
    Sam looked up at him with his big blue eyes. “No,” he said. “Not until you take Daddy’s tractor off the lorry.”
    The man’s face darkened. Hannah saw his hands curl into fists.
    “Get the key off him.”
    “No,” they all said.
    Sam’s face was pale now, but he didn’t move. The driver lunged towards him. Hannah leapt between them and spread her arms out wide.
    The others were all shouting at once.
    “No!”
    “Leave him alone!”
    “Get off, you big fat bully!” Martha ducked under Hannah’s arm and kicked the man hard on the leg.
    “OW!” he yelled, grabbing his shin. “Jeez, what was that?!” He glared at Martha’s mud-caked red stiletto and raised his arm. “You little—”
    With superhuman strength, Jo shoved Jasper forward. Crushed in the throng, Jasper planted one big front hoof squarely down on the man’s wellington boot.
    “OWWWW!! What the—” Judging by the swearing, Jasper was pretty much resting his entire weight on that hoof.
    Suddenly a voice behind Hannah said, “What onearth’s going on?”
    She swung round. There was Dad, hands on hips, staring open-mouthed at the scene in front of him.
    Jasper took his hoof off the man’s boot and sat down, unblinking, as the man clutched his foot and hopped up and down. “Your blasted kids! Bunch of hooligans!”
    Sam ran to his father. “Daddy, we saved your Marshall!”
    Dad looked blankly at him.
    “Look!” said Hannah, pointing to the tractor. “They were stealing it. We’ve stopped them.”
    Dad shifted his gaze so that he seemed to be looking far away across the fields. When he spoke, his words sounded flat and final.
    “Nobody’s stealing it.”
    “Yes, they are. Look!”
    “They’re not stealing it. I’ve sold it.”
    “What?” said Hannah. What was he talking about?
    “Right,” said the driver. “So give me that key.”
    Sam looked at Dad, who was still staring out across the meadows. He turned to Hannah.
    Hannah put her hand on Dad’s arm. “What’s going on? I don’t understand. You can’t sell your Marshall. It was Grandfather’s. And you love it.”
    She looked into his face, trying to meet his gaze, willing him to say something that would put it all right.
    But he didn’t move.
    The driver blew out his cheeks. “Are we takingthis thing or not?”
    Dad kept his eyes fixed on the silver horizon as he spoke. “Give him the key.”
    Sam, white-faced and bewildered, looked at Hannah. Feeling sick, she nodded.
    The driver snatched the key from Sam’s palm and swung himself up into the