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〃It woked reawnd th' nest as if it couldn't believe its own eyes。
〃But it dudn't do as aw expected。 Aw expected as it 'ud sit deawn
ageean an' lay another。
〃But it just gi'e one wonderin' sooart o' chuck； an then； after a
long stare reawnd th' hen…coyt； it woked eawt； as mad a hen as
aw've ever sin。 Aw fun' eawt after； what th' long stare meant。 It
were tekkin' farewell！ For if yo'll believe me that hen never laid
another egg i' ony o' my nests。
〃Varra like it laid away in a spot wheear it could hev summat to
luk at when it hed done wark for th' day。
〃Sooa aw lost mi best layer through mi actin'； an' aw've never
invented owt sen。〃
CHAPTER VI
One learns to be modest by living on a poultry farm； for there are
constant expositions of the most deplorable vanity among the cocks。
We have a couple of pea…fowl who certainly are an addition to the
landscape； as they step mincingly along the square of turf we
dignify by the name of lawn。 The head of the house has a most
languid and self…conscious strut； and his microscopic mind is fixed
entirely on his splendid trailing tail。 If I could only master his
language sufficiently to tell him how hideously ugly the back view
of this gorgeous fan is； when he spreads it for the edification of
the observer in front of him； he would of course retort that there
is a 〃congregation side〃 to everything； but I should at least force
him into a defence of his tail and a confession of its limitations。
This would be new and unpleasant； I fancy； and if it produced no
perceptible effect upon his super…arrogant demeanour； I might
remind him that he is likely to be used； eventually； for a feather
duster； unless； indeed； the Heavens are superstitious and prefer to
throw his tail away； rather than bring ill luck and the evil eye
into the house。
The longer I study the cock； whether Black Spanish； White Leghorn；
Dorking； or the common barnyard fowl； the more intimately I am
acquainted with him； the less I am impressed with his character。
He has more pride of bearing； and less to be proud of； than any
bird I know。 He is indolent； though he struts pompously over the
grass as if the day were all too short for his onerous duties。 He
calls the hens about him when I throw corn from the basket； but
many a time I have seen him swallow hurriedly； and in private； some
dainty titbit he has found unexpectedly。 He has no particular
chivalry。 He gives no special encouragement to his hen when he
becomes a prospective father； and renders little assistance when
the responsibilities become actualities。 His only personal message
or contribution to the world is his raucous cock…a…doodle…doo；
which； being uttered most frequently at dawn； is the most ill…timed
and offensive of all musical notes。 It is so unnecessary too； as
if the day didn't come soon enough without his warning； but I
suppose he is anxious to waken his hens and get them at their daily
task； and so he disturbs the entire community。 In short； I dislike
him； his swagger； his autocratic strut； his greed； his irritating
self…consciousness； his endless parading of himself up and down in
a procession of one。
Of course his character is largely the result of polygamy。 His
weaknesses are only what might be expected； and as for the hens； I
have considerable respect for the patience； sobriety； and dignity
with which they endure an institution particularly offensive to all
women。 In their case they do not even have the sustaining thought
of its being an article of religion； so they are to be complimented
the more。
There is nothing on earth so feminine as a hennot womanly； simply
feminine。 Those men of insight who write the Woman's Page in the
Sunday newspapers study hens more than women； I sometimes think； at
any rate； their favourite types are all present on this poultry
farm。
Some families of White Leghorns spend most of their time in the
rickyard； where they look extremely pretty； their slender white
shapes and red combs and wattles well set off by the background of
golden hayricks。 There is a great oak…tree in one corner； with a
tall ladder leaning against its trunk； and a capital roosting…place
on a long branch running at right angles with the ladder。 I try to
spend a quarter of an hour there every night before supper； just
for the pleasure of seeing the feathered 〃women…folks〃 mount that
ladder。
A dozen of them surround the foot； waiting restlessly for their
turn。 One little white lady flutters up on the lowest round and
perches there until she reviews the past； faces the present； and
forecasts the future； during which time she is gathering courage
for the next jump。 She cackles； takes up one foot and then the
other； tilts back and forth； holds up her skirts and drops them
again； cocks her head nervously to see whether they are all staring
at her below； gives half a dozen preliminary springs which mean
nothing； declares she can't and won't go up any faster； unties her
bonnet strings and pushes back her hair； pulls down her dress to
cover her toes； and finally alights on the next round； swaying to
and fro until she gains her equilibrium； when she proceeds to enact
the same scene over again。
All this time the hens at the foot of the ladder are criticising
her methods and exclaiming at the length of time she requires in
mounting； while the cocks stroll about the yard keeping one eye on
the ladder； picking up a seed here and there； and giving a
masculine sneer now and then at the too…familiar scene。 They
approach the party at intervals； but only to remark that it always
makes a man laugh to see a woman go up a ladder。 The next hen；
stirred to the depths by this speech； flies up entirely too fast；
loses her head； tumbles off the top round； and has to make the
ascent over again。 Thus it goes on and on； this petite comedie
humaine； and I could enjoy it with my whole heart if Mr。 Heaven did
not insist on sharing the spectacle with me。 He is so
inexpressibly dull； so destitute of humour； that I did not think it
likely he would see in the performance anything more than a flock
of hens going up a ladder to roost。 But he did； for there is no
man so blind that he cannot see the follies of women； and； when he
forgot himself so far as to utter a few genial； silly； well…worn
reflections upon femininity at large； I turned upon him and
revealed to him some of the characteristics of his own sex； gained
from an exhaustive study of the barnyard fowl of the masculine
gender。 He went into the house discomfited； though chuckling a
little at my vehemence； but at least I have made it for ever
impossible for him to watch his hens without an occasional glance
at the cocks。
CHAPTER VII
July 12th。
O the pathos of a poultry farm！ Catherine of Aragon； the black
Spanish hen that stole her nest； brought out nine chicks this
morning； and the business…like and marble…hearted Phoebe has taken
them away and given them to another hen who has only seven。 Two
mothers cannot be wasted on these small familiesit would not be
profitable； and the older mother； having been tried and found
faithful over seven； has been given the other n