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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1867-h.zip b/1867-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f9459c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/1867-h.zip diff --git a/1867-h/1867-h.htm b/1867-h/1867-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..822a1d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/1867-h/1867-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2674 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Diary of a Goose Girl</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Diary of a Goose Girl, by Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Diary of a Goose Girl, by Kate Douglas +Smith Wiggin, Illustrated by Claude A. Shepperson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Diary of a Goose Girl + + +Author: Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin + + + +Release Date: May 15, 2007 [eBook #1867] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1902 Gay and Bird edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt="Book cover" src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">with +illustrations by</span><br /> +CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">GAY AND BIRD<br /> +<span class="smcap">22 bedford street</span>, <span +class="smcap">strand</span><br /> +LONDON<br /> +1902</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p01b.jpg"> +<img alt="I looked about me with what Stevenson calls a +‘fine dizzy, muddle-headed job’" +src="images/p01s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO THE HENS, DUCKS, AND GEESE<br /> +WHO SO KINDLY GAVE ME<br /> +SITTINGS FOR THESE<br /> +SKETCHES THE BOOK<br /> +IS GRATEFULLY<br /> +INSCRIBED</p> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p1ab.jpg"> +<img alt="Thornycroft House" src="images/p1as.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Thornycroft +Farm</span>, near Barbury Green, July 1, 190-.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p1b.jpg"> +<img alt="Picture of woman and goose" src="images/p1b.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>In alluding to myself as a Goose Girl, I am using only the +most modest of my titles; for I am also a poultry-maid, a tender +of Belgian hares and rabbits, and a shepherdess; but I +particularly fancy the rôle of Goose Girl, because it +recalls the German fairy tales of my early youth, when I always +yearned, but never hoped, to be precisely what I now am.</p> +<p>As I was jolting along these charming Sussex roads the other +day, a fat buff pony and a tippy cart being my manner of +progression, I chanced upon the village of Barbury Green.</p> +<p>One glance was enough for any woman, who, having eyes to see, +could see with them; but I made assurance doubly sure by driving +about a little, struggling to conceal my new-born passion from +the stable-boy who was my escort. Then, it being high noon +of a cloudless day, I descended from the trap and said to the +astonished yokel: “You may go back to the Hydropathic; I am +spending a month or two here. Wait a +moment—I’ll send a message, please!”</p> +<p>I then scribbled a word or two to those having me in +custody.</p> +<p>“I am very tired of people,” the note ran, +“and want to rest myself by living a while with +things. Address me (if you must) at Barbury Green +post-office, or at all events send me a box of simple clothing +there—nothing but shirts and skirts, please. I cannot +forget that I am only twenty miles from Oxenbridge (though it +might be one hundred and twenty, which is the reason I adore it), +but I rely upon you to keep an honourable distance yourselves, +and not to divulge my place of retreat to others, especially +to—you know whom! Do not pursue me. I will +never be taken alive!”</p> +<p>Having cut, thus, the cable that bound me to civilisation, and +having seen the buff pony and the dazed yokel disappear in a +cloud of dust, I looked about me with what Stevenson calls a +“fine, dizzy, muddle-headed joy,” the joy of a +successful rebel or a liberated serf. Plenty of money in my +purse—that was unromantic, of course, but it simplified +matters—and nine hours of daylight remaining in which to +find a lodging.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p3b.jpg"> +<img alt="Life converges there, just at the public duck-pond" +src="images/p3s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The village is one of the oldest, and I am sure it must be one +of the quaintest, in England. It is too small to be printed +on the map (an honour that has spoiled more than one Arcadia), so +pray do not look there, but just believe in it, and some day you +may be rewarded by driving into it by chance, as I did, and feel +the same Columbus thrill running, like an electric current, +through your veins. I withhold specific geographical +information in order that you may not miss that Columbus thrill, +which comes too seldom in a world of railroads.</p> +<p>The Green is in the very centre of Barbury village, and all +civic, political, family, and social life converges there, just +at the public duck-pond—a wee, sleepy lake with a slope of +grass-covered stones by which the ducks descend for their +swim.</p> +<p>The houses are set about the Green like those in a toy +village. They are of old brick, with crumpled, up-and-down +roofs of deep-toned red, and tufts of stonecrop growing from the +eaves. Diamond-paned windows, half open, admit the sweet +summer air; and as for the gardens in front, it would seem as if +the inhabitants had nothing to do but work in them, there is such +a riotous profusion of colour and bloom. To add to the +effect, there are always pots of flowers hanging from the trees, +blue flax and yellow myrtle; and cages of Java sparrows and +canaries singing joyously, as well they may in such a +paradise.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p5b.jpg"> +<img alt="The houses are set about the Green" +src="images/p5s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The shops are idyllic, too, as if Nature had seized even the +man of trade and made him subservient to her designs. The +general draper’s, where I fitted myself out for a day or +two quite easily, is set back in a tangle of poppies and sweet +peas, Madonna lilies and Canterbury bells. The shop itself +has a gay awning, and what do you think the draper has suspended +from it, just as a picturesque suggestion to the passer-by? +Suggestion I call it, because I should blush to use the word +advertisement in describing anything so dainty and +decorative. Well, then, garlands of shoes, if you +please! Baby bootlets of bronze; tiny ankle-ties in yellow, +blue, and scarlet kid; glossy patent-leather pumps shining in the +sun, with festoons of slippers at the corners, flowery slippers +in imitation Berlin wool-work. If you make this picture in +your mind’s-eye, just add a window above the awning, and +over the fringe of marigolds in the window-box put the +draper’s wife dancing a rosy-cheeked baby. Alas! my +words are only black and white, I fear, and this picture needs a +palette drenched in primary colours.</p> +<p>Along the street, a short distance, is the old +watchmaker’s. Set in the hedge at the gate is a glass +case with <i>Multum in Parvo</i> painted on the woodwork. +Within, a little stand of trinkets revolves slowly; as slowly, I +imagine, as the current of business in that quiet street. +The house stands a trifle back and is covered thickly with ivy, +while over the entrance-door of the shop is a great round clock +set in a green frame of clustering vine. The hands pointed +to one when I passed the watchmaker’s garden with its +thicket of fragrant lavender and its murmuring bees; so I went in +to the sign of the “Strong i’ the Arm” for some +cold luncheon, determining to patronise “The Running +Footman” at the very next opportunity. Neither of +these inns is starred by Baedeker, and this fact adds the last +touch of enchantment to the picture.</p> +<p>The landlady at the “Strong i’ the Arm” +stabbed me in the heart by telling me that there were no +apartments to let in the village, and that she had no private +sitting-room in the inn; but she speedily healed the wound by +saying that I might be accommodated at one of the farm-houses in +the vicinity. Did I object to a farm-’ouse? +Then she could cheerfully recommend the Evan’s farm, only +’alf a mile away. She ’ad understood from Miss +Phœbe Evan, who sold her poultry, that they would take one +lady lodger if she didn’t wish much waiting upon.</p> +<p>In my present mood I was in search of the strenuous life, and +eager to wait, rather than to be waited upon; so I walked along +the edge of the Green, wishing that some mentally unbalanced +householder would take a sudden fancy to me and ask me to come in +and lodge awhile. I suppose these families live under their +roofs of peach-blow tiles, in the midst of their blooming +gardens, for a guinea a week or thereabouts; yet if they +“undertook” me (to use their own phrase), the bill +for my humble meals and bed would be at least double that. +I don’t know that I blame them; one should have proper +compensation for admitting a world-stained lodger into such an +Eden.</p> +<p>When I was searching for rooms a week ago, I chanced upon a +pretty cottage where the woman had sometimes let +apartments. She showed me the premises and asked me if I +would mind taking my meals in her own dining-room, where I could +be served privately at certain hours: and, since she had but the +one sitting-room, would I allow her to go on using it +occasionally? also, if I had no special preference, would I take +the second-sized bedroom and leave her in possession of the +largest one, which permitted her to have the baby’s crib by +her bedside? She thought I should be quite as comfortable, +and it was her opinion that in making arrangements with lodgers, +it was a good plan not to “bryke up the ’ome any more +than was necessary.”</p> +<p>“Bryke up the ’ome!” That is seemingly +the malignant purpose with which I entered Barbury Green.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">July 4th.</p> +<p>Enter the family of Thornycroft Farm, of which I am already a +member in good and regular standing.</p> +<p>I introduce Mrs. Heaven first, for she is a self-saturated +person who would never forgive the insult should she receive any +lower place.</p> +<p>She welcomed me with the statement: “We do not take +lodgers here, nor boarders; no lodgers, nor boarders, but we do +occasionally admit paying guests, those who look as if they would +appreciate the quietude of the plyce and be willing as you might +say to remunerate according.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p10b.jpg"> +<img alt="Mrs. Heaven" src="images/p10s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I did not mind at this particular juncture what I was called, +so long as the epithet was comparatively unobjectionable, so I am +a paying guest, therefore, and I expect to pay handsomely for the +handsome appellation. Mrs. Heaven is short and fat; she +fills her dress as a pin-cushion fills its cover; she wears a cap +and apron, and she is so full of platitudes that she would have +burst had I not appeared as a providential outlet for them. +Her accent is not of the farm, but of the town, and smacks wholly +of the marts of trade. She is repetitious, too, as well as +platitudinous. “I ’ope if there’s +anythink you require you will let us know, let us know,” +she says several times each day; and whenever she enters my +sitting-room she prefaces her conversation with the remark: +“I trust you are finding it quiet here, miss? +It’s the quietude of the plyce that is its charm, yes, the +quietude. And yet” (she dribbles on) “it wears +on a body after a while, miss. I often go into Woodmucket +to visit one of my sons just for the noise, simply for the noise, +miss, for nothink else in the world but the noise. +There’s nothink like noise for soothing nerves that is worn +threadbare with the quietude, miss, or at least that’s my +experience; and yet to a strynger the quietude of the plyce is +its charm, undoubtedly its chief charm; and that is what our +paying guests always say, although our charges are somewhat +higher than other plyces. If there’s anythink you +require, miss, I ’ope you’ll mention it. There +is not a commodious assortment in Barbury Green, but we can +always send the pony to Woodmucket in case of urgency. Our +paying guest last summer was a Mrs. Pollock, and she was by way +of having sudden fancies. Young and unmarried though you +are, miss, I think you will tyke my meaning without my speaking +plyner? Well, at six o’clock of a rainy afternoon, +she was seized with an unaccountable desire for vegetable +marrows, and Mr. ’Eaven put the pony in the cart and went +to Woodmucket for them, which is a great advantage to be so near +a town and yet ’ave the quietude.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p11b.jpg"> +<img alt="Mr. Heaven" src="images/p11s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Mr. Heaven is merged, like Mr. Jellyby, in the more shining +qualities of his wife. A line of description is too long +for him. Indeed, I can think of no single word brief +enough, at least in English. The Latin “nil” +will do, since no language is rich in words of less than three +letters. He is nice, kind, bald, timid, thin, and so +colourless that he can scarcely be discerned save in a strong +light. When Mrs. Heaven goes out into the orchard in search +of him, I can hardly help calling from my window, “Bear a +trifle to the right, Mrs. Heaven—now to the left—just +in front of you now—if you put out your hands you will +touch him.”</p> +<p>Phœbe, aged seventeen, is the daughter of the +house. She is virtuous, industrious, conscientious, and +singularly destitute of physical charm. She is more than +plain; she looks as if she had been planned without any definite +purpose in view, made of the wrong materials, been badly put +together, and never properly finished off; but +“plain” after all is a relative word. Many a +plain girl has been married for her beauty; and now and then a +beauty, falling under a cold eye, has been thought plain.</p> +<p>Phœbe has her compensations, for she is beloved by, and +reciprocates the passion of, the Woodmancote carrier, Woodmucket +being the English manner of pronouncing the place of his +abode. If he “carries” as energetically for the +great public as he fetches for Phœbe, then he must be a +rising and a prosperous man. He brings her daily, wild +strawberries, cherries, birds’ nests, peacock feathers, +sea-shells, green hazel-nuts, samples of hens’ food, or +bouquets of wilted field flowers tied together tightly and held +with a large, moist, loving hand. He has fine curly hair of +sandy hue, which forms an aureole on his brow, and a reddish +beard, which makes another inverted aureole to match, round his +chin. One cannot look at him, especially when the sun +shines through him, without thinking how lovely he would be if +stuffed and set on wheels, with a little string to drag him +about.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p13b.jpg"> +<img alt="The Woodmancote carrier" src="images/p13s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Phœbe confided to me that she was on the eve of loving +the postman when the carrier came across her horizon.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t do to be too hysty, does it, +miss?” she asked me as we were weeding the onion bed. +“I was to give the postman his answer on the Monday night, +and it was on the Monday morning that Mr. Gladwish made his first +trip here as carrier. I may say I never wyvered from that +moment, and no more did he. When I think how near I came to +promising the postman it gives me a turn.” (I can +understand that, for I once met the man I nearly promised years +before to marry, and we both experienced such a sense of relief +at being free instead of bound that we came near falling in love +for sheer joy.)</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p14.jpg"> +<img alt="Picture of toy on wheels" src="images/p14.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The last and most important member of the household is the +Square Baby. His name is Albert Edward, and he is really +five years old and no baby at all; but his appearance on this +planet was in the nature of a complete surprise to all parties +concerned, and he is spoiled accordingly. He has a square +head and jaw, square shoulders, square hands and feet. He +is red and white and solid and stolid and slow-witted, as the +young of his class commonly are, and will make a bulwark of the +nation in course of time, I should think; for England has to +produce a few thousand such square babies every year for use in +the colonies and in the standing army. Albert Edward has +already a military gait, and when he has acquired a habit of +obedience at all comparable with his power of command, he will be +able to take up the white man’s burden with distinguished +success. Meantime I can never look at him without +marvelling how the English climate can transmute bacon and eggs, +tea and the solid household loaf into such radiant roses and +lilies as bloom upon his cheeks and lips.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">July 8th.</p> +<p>Thornycroft is by way of being a small poultry farm.</p> +<p>In reaching it from Barbury Green, you take the first +left-hand road, go till you drop, and there you are.</p> +<p>It reminds me of my “grandmother’s farm at +Older.” Did you know the song when you were a +child?—</p> +<blockquote><p>My grandmother had a very fine farm<br /> + ‘Way down in the fields of Older.<br /> + With a cluck-cluck here,<br /> + And a cluck-cluck there,<br /> + Here and there a cluck-cluck,<br +/> + Cluck-cluck here and there,<br /> + Down in the fields at Older.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It goes on for ever by the simple subterfuge of changing a few +words in each verse.</p> +<blockquote><p>My grandmother had a very fine farm<br /> + ‘Way down in the fields of Older.<br /> + With a quack-quack here,<br /> + And a quack-quack there,<br /> + Here and there a quack-quack,<br +/> + Quack-quack here and there,<br /> + Down in the fields at Older.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is followed by the gobble-gobble, moo-moo, baa-baa, etc., +as long as the laureate’s imagination and the +infant’s breath hold good. The tune is pretty, and I +do not know, or did not, when I was young, a more fascinating +lyric.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p17b.jpg"> +<img alt="The sitting hens" src="images/p17s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Thornycroft House must have belonged to a country gentleman +once upon a time, or to more than one; men who built on a bit +here and there once in a hundred years, until finally we have +this charmingly irregular and dilapidated whole. You go up +three steps into Mrs. Heaven’s room, down two into mine, +while Phœbe’s is up in a sort of turret with long, +narrow lattices opening into the creepers. There are +crooked little stair-cases, passages that branch off into other +passages and lead nowhere in particular; I can’t think of a +better house in which to play hide and seek on a wet day. +In front, what was once, doubtless, a green, is cut up into +greens; to wit, a vegetable garden, where the onions, turnips, +and potatoes grow cosily up to the very door-sill; the +utilitarian aspect of it all being varied by some scarlet-runners +and a scattering of poppies on either side of the path.</p> +<p>The Belgian hares have their habitation in a corner fifty feet +distant; one large enclosure for poultry lies just outside the +sweetbrier hedge; the others, with all the houses and coops, are +in the meadow at the back, where also our tumbler pigeons are +kept.</p> +<p>Phœbe attends to the poultry; it is her +department. Mr. Heaven has neither the force nor the +<i>finesse</i> required, and the gentle reader who thinks these +qualities unneeded in so humble a calling has only to spend a few +days at Thornycroft to be convinced. Mrs. Heaven would be +of use, but she is dressing the Square Baby in the morning and +putting him to bed at night just at the hours when the feathered +young things are undergoing the same operation.</p> +<p>A Goose Girl, like a poet, is sometimes born, sometimes +otherwise. I am of the born variety. No training was +necessary; I put my head on my pillow as a complicated product of +modern civilisation on a Tuesday night, and on a Wednesday +morning I awoke as a Goose Girl.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p19b.jpg"> +<img alt="Hens . . . go to bed at a virtuous hour" +src="images/p19s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>My destiny slumbered during the day, but at eight +o’clock I heard a terrific squawking in the direction of +the duck-ponds, and, aimlessly drifting in that direction, I came +upon Phœbe trying to induce ducks and drakes, geese and +ganders, to retire for the night. They have to be driven +into enclosures behind fences of wire netting, fastened into +little rat-proof boxes, or shut into separate coops, so as to be +safe from their natural enemies, the rats and foxes; which, +obeying, I suppose, the law of supply and demand, abound in this +neighbourhood. The old ganders are allowed their liberty, +being of such age, discretion, sagacity, and pugnacity that they +can be trusted to fight their own battles.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p20b.jpg"> +<img alt="Ducks and geese . . . would roam the streets till +morning" src="images/p20s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The intelligence of hens, though modest, is of such an order +that it prompts them to go to bed at a virtuous hour of their own +accord; but ducks and geese have to be materially assisted, or I +believe they would roam till morning. Never did small boy +detest and resist being carried off to his nursery as these +dullards, young and old, detest and resist being driven to +theirs. Whether they suffer from insomnia, or nightmare, or +whether they simply prefer the sweet air of liberty (and death) +to the odour of captivity and the coop, I have no means of +knowing.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p21b.jpg"> +<img alt="The pole was not long enough" src="images/p21s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Phœbe stood by one of the duck-ponds, a long pole in her +hand, and a helpless expression in that doughlike countenance of +hers, where aimless contours and features unite to make a kind of +facial blur. (What does the carrier see in it?) The +pole was not long enough to reach the ducks, and +Phœbe’s method lacked spirit and adroitness, so that +it was natural, perhaps, that they refused to leave the water, +the evening being warm, with an uncommon fine sunset.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p22.jpg"> +<img alt="They . . . waddle under the wrong fence" +src="images/p22.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I saw the situation at once and ran to meet it with a glow of +interest and anticipation. If there is anything in the +world I enjoy, it is making somebody do something that he +doesn’t want to do; and if, when victory perches upon my +banner, the somebody can be brought to say that he ought to have +done it without my making him, that adds the unforgettable touch +to pleasure, though seldom, alas! does it happen. Then +ensued the delightful and stimulating hour that has now become a +feature of the day; an hour in which the remembrance of the +table-d’hôte dinner at the Hydro, going on at +identically the same time, only stirs me to a keener joy and +gratitude.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p23.jpg"> +<img alt="Honking and hissing like a bewildered orchestra" +src="images/p23.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p24b.jpg"> +<img alt="Harried and pecked by the big geese" +src="images/p24s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The ducks swim round in circles, hide under the willows, and +attempt to creep into the rat-holes in the banks, a stupidity so +crass that it merits instant death, which it somehow always +escapes. Then they come out in couples and waddle under the +wrong fence into the lower meadow, fly madly under the +tool-house, pitch blindly in with the sitting hens, and out again +in short order, all the time quacking and squawking, honking and +hissing like a bewildered orchestra. By dint of splashing +the water with poles, throwing pebbles, beating the shrubs at the +pond’s edges, “shooing” frantically with our +skirts, crawling beneath bars to head them off, and prodding them +from under bushes to urge them on, we finally get the older ones +out of the water and the younger ones into some sort of relation +to their various retreats; but, owing to their lack of geography, +hatred of home, and general recalcitrancy, they none of them turn +up in the right place and have to be sorted out. We uncover +the top of the little house, or the enclosure as it may be, or +reach in at the door, and, seizing the struggling victim, drag +him forth and take him where he should have had the wit to go in +the first instance. The weak ones get in with the strong +and are in danger of being trampled; two May goslings that look +almost full-grown have run into a house with a brood of ducklings +a week old. There are twenty-seven crowded into one coop, +five in another, nineteen in another; the gosling with one leg +has to come out, and the duckling threatened with the gapes; +their place is with the “invaleeds,” as Phœbe +calls them, but they never learn the location of the hospital, +nor have the slightest scruple about spreading contagious +diseases.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p25b.jpg"> +<img alt="In solitary splendour" src="images/p25s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Finally, when we have separated and sorted exhaustively, an +operation in which Phœbe shows a delicacy of discrimination +and a fearlessness of attack amounting to genius, we count the +entire number and find several missing. Searching for their +animate or inanimate bodies, we “scoop” one from +under the tool-house, chance upon two more who are being harried +and pecked by the big geese in the lower meadow, and discover one +sailing by himself in solitary splendour in the middle of the +deserted pond, a look of evil triumph in his bead-like eye. +Still we lack one young duckling, and he at length is found dead +by the hedge. A rat has evidently seized him and choked him +at a single throttle, but in such haste that he has not had time +to carry away the tiny body.</p> +<p>“Poor think!” says Phœbe tearfully; +“it looks as if it was ’it with some kind of a +wepping. I don’t know whatever to do with the rats, +they’re gettin’ that fearocious!”</p> +<p>Before I was admitted into daily contact with the living goose +(my previous intercourse with him having been carried on when +gravy and stuffing obscured his true personality), I thought him +a very Dreyfus among fowls, a sorely slandered bird, to whom +justice had never been done; for even the gentle Darwin is hard +upon him. My opinion is undergoing some slight +modifications, but I withhold judgment at present, hoping that +some of the follies, faults, vagaries, and limitations that I +observe in Phœbe’s geese may be due to +Phœbe’s educational methods, which were, before my +advent, those of the darkest ages.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p27b.jpg"> +<img alt="Dryshod warnings which are never heeded" +src="images/p27s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right">July 9th.</p> +<p>By the time the ducks and geese are incarcerated for the +night, the reasonable, sensible, practical-minded +hens—especially those whose mentality is increased and +whose virtue is heightened by the responsibilities of +motherhood—have gone into their own particular rat-proof +boxes, where they are waiting in a semi-somnolent state to have +the wire doors closed, the bricks set against them, and the bits +of sacking flung over the tops to keep out the draught. We +have a great many young families, both ducklings and chicks, but +we have no duck mothers at present. The variety of bird +which Phœbe seems to have bred during the past year may be +called the New Duck, with certain radical ideas about +woman’s sphere. What will happen to Thornycroft if we +develop a New Hen and a New Cow, my imagination fails to +conceive. There does not seem to be the slightest danger +for the moment, however, and our hens lay and sit and sit and lay +as if laying and sitting were the twin purposes of life.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p28.jpg"> +<img alt="The mother goes off to bed" src="images/p28.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The nature of the hen seems to broaden with the duties of +maternity, but I think myself that we presume a little upon her +amiability and natural motherliness. It is one thing to +desire a family of one’s own, to lay eggs with that idea in +view, to sit upon them three long weeks and hatch out and bring +up a nice brood of chicks. It must be quite another to have +one’s eggs abstracted day by day and eaten by a callous +public, the nest filled with deceitful substitutes, and at the +end of a dull and weary period of hatching to bring into the +world another person’s children—children, too, of the +wrong size, the wrong kind of bills and feet, and, still more +subtle grievance, the wrong kind of instincts, leading them to a +dangerous aquatic career, one which the mother may not enter to +guide, guard, and teach; one on the brink of which she must ever +stand, uttering dryshod warnings which are never heeded. +They grow used to this strange order of things after a bit, it is +true, and are less anxious and excited. When the duck-brood +returns safely again and again from what the hen-mother thinks +will prove a watery grave, she becomes accustomed to the +situation, I suppose. I find that at night she stands by +the pond for what she considers a decent, self-respecting length +of time, calling the ducklings out of the water; then, if they +refuse to come, the mother goes off to bed and leaves them to +Providence, or Phœbe.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p29.jpg"> +<img alt="Cornelia and the web-footed Gracchi" +src="images/p29.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The brown hen that we have named Cornelia is the best mother, +the one who waits longest and most patiently for the web-footed +Gracchi to finish their swim.</p> +<p>When a chick is taken out of the incubytor (as Phœbe +calls it) and refused by all the other hens, Cornelia generally +accepts it, though she had twelve of her own when we began using +her as an orphan asylum. “Wings are made to +stretch,” she seems to say cheerfully, and with a kind +glance of her round eye she welcomes the wanderer and the +outcast. She even tended for a time the offspring of an +absent-minded, light-headed pheasant who flew over a four-foot +wall and left her young behind her to starve; it was not a New +Pheasant, either; for the most conservative and old-fashioned of +her tribe occasionally commits domestic solecisms of this +sort.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p30b.jpg"> +<img alt="An orphan asylum" src="images/p30s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>There is no telling when, where, or how the maternal instinct +will assert itself. Among our Thornycroft cats is a certain +Mrs. Greyskin. She had not been seen for many days, and +Mrs. Heaven concluded that she had hidden herself somewhere with +a family of kittens; but as the supply of that article with us +more than equals the demand, we had not searched for her with +especial zeal.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p31b.jpg"> +<img alt="Phœbe and I followed her stealthily" +src="images/p31s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The other day Mrs. Greyskin appeared at the dairy door, and +when she had been fed Phœbe and I followed her stealthily, +from a distance. She walked slowly about as if her mind +were quite free from harassing care, and finally approached a +deserted cow-house where there was a great mound of straw. +At this moment she caught sight of us and turned in another +direction to throw us off the scent. We persevered in our +intention of going into her probable retreat, and were cautiously +looking for some sign of life in the haymow, when we heard a soft +cackle and a ruffling of plumage. Coming closer to the +sound we saw a black hen brooding a nest, her bright bead eyes +turning nervously from side to side; and, coaxed out from her +protecting wings by youthful curiosity, came four kittens, eyes +wide open, warm, happy, ready for sport!</p> +<p>The sight was irresistible, and Phœbe ran for Mr. and +Mrs. Heaven and the Square Baby. Mother Hen was not to be +embarrassed or daunted, even if her most sacred feelings were +regarded in the light of a cheap entertainment. She held +her ground while one of the kits slid up and down her glossy +back, and two others, more timid, crept underneath her breast, +only daring to put out their pink noses! We retired then +for very shame and met Mrs. Greyskin in the doorway. This +should have thickened the plot, but there is apparently no +rivalry nor animosity between the co-mothers. We watch them +every day now, through a window in the roof. Mother +Greyskin visits the kittens frequently, lies down beside the home +nest, and gives them their dinner. While this is going on +Mother Blackwing goes modestly away for a bite, a sup, and a +little exercise, returning to the kittens when the cat leaves +them. It is pretty to see her settle down over the four, +fat, furry dumplings, and they seem to know no difference in +warmth or comfort, whichever mother is brooding them; while, as +their eyes have been open for a week, it can no longer be called +a blind error on their part.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p33b.jpg"> +<img alt="Coaxed out . . . by youthful curiosity" +src="images/p33s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>When we have closed all our small hen-nurseries for the night, +there is still the large house inhabited by the thirty-two +full-grown chickens which Phœbe calls the broilers. I +cannot endure the term, and will not use it. “Now for +the April chicks,” I say every evening.</p> +<p>“Do you mean the broilers?” asks Phœbe.</p> +<p>“I mean the big April chicks,” say I.</p> +<p>“Yes, them are the broilers,” says she.</p> +<p>But is it not disagreeable enough to be a broiler when +one’s time comes, without having the gridiron waved in +one’s face for weeks beforehand?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p34b.jpg"> +<img alt="Nine huddle together" src="images/p34s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The April chicks are all lively and desirous of seeing the +world as thoroughly as possible before going to roost or +broil. As a general thing, we find in the large house +sixteen young fowls of the contemplative, flavourless, +resigned-to-the-inevitable variety; three more (the same three +every night) perch on the roof and are driven down; four (always +the same four) cling to the edge of the open door, waiting to fly +off, but not in, when you attempt to close it; nine huddle +together on a place in the grass about forty feet distant, where +a small coop formerly stood in the prehistoric ages. This +small coop was one in which they lodged for a fortnight when they +were younger, and when those absolutely indelible impressions are +formed of which we read in educational maxims. It was taken +away long since, but the nine loyal (or stupid) Casabiancas cling +to the sacred spot where its foundations rested; they accordingly +have to be caught and deposited bodily in the house, and this +requires strategy, as they note our approach from a considerable +distance.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p35.jpg"> +<img alt="Of a wandering mind" src="images/p35.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Finally all are housed but two, the little white cock and the +black pullet, who are still impish and of a wandering mind. +Though headed off in every direction, they fly into the hedges +and hide in the underbrush. We beat the hedge on the other +side, but with no avail. We dive into the thicket of wild +roses, sweetbrier, and thistles on our hands and knees, coming +out with tangled hair, scratched noses, and no hens. Then, +when all has been done that human ingenuity can suggest, +Phœbe goes to her late supper and I do sentry-work. I +stroll to a safe distance, and, sitting on one of the rat-proof +boxes, watch the bushes with an eagle eye. Five minutes go +by, ten, fifteen; and then out steps the white cock, stealthily +tiptoeing toward the home into which he refused to go at our +instigation. In a moment out creeps the obstinate little +beast of a black pullet from the opposite clump. The +wayward pair meet at their own door, which I have left open a few +inches. When all is still I walk gently down the field, +and, warned by previous experiences, approach the house from +behind. I draw the door to softly and quickly; but not so +quickly that the evil-minded and suspicious black pullet +hasn’t time to spring out, with a make-believe squawk of +fright—that induces three other blameless chickens to fly +down from their perches and set the whole flock in a +flutter. Then I fall from grace and call her a Broiler; and +when, after some minutes of hot pursuit, I catch her by falling +over her in the corner by the goose-pen, I address her as a fat, +juicy Broiler with parsley butter and a bit of bacon.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p36b.jpg"> +<img alt="With tangled hair, scratched noses, and no hens" +src="images/p36s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">July 10th.</p> +<p>At ten thirty or so in the morning the cackling begins. +I wonder exactly what it means! Have the forest-lovers who +listen so respectfully to, and interpret so exquisitely, the +notes of birds—have none of them made psychological +investigations of the hen cackle? Can it be simple +elation? One could believe that of the first few eggs, but +a hen who has laid two or three hundred can hardly feel the same +exuberant pride and joy daily. Can it be the excitement +incident to successful achievement? Hardly, because the +task is so extremely simple. Eggs are more or less alike; a +little larger or smaller, a trifle whiter or browner; and almost +sure to be quite right as to details; that is, the big end never +gets confused with the little end, they are always ovoid and +never spherical, and the yolk is always inside of the +white. As for a soft-shelled egg, it is so rare an +occurrence that the fear of laying one could not set the whole +race of hens in a panic; so there really cannot be any +intellectual or emotional agitation in producing a thing that +might be made by a machine. Can it be simply +“fussiness”; since the people who have the least to +do commonly make the most flutter about doing it?</p> +<p>Perhaps it is merely conversation. +“<i>Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut</i>-DAH<i>cut</i>! . . . I have +finished my strictly fresh egg, have you laid yours? Make +haste, then, for the cock has found a gap in the wire-fence and +wants us to wander in the strawberry-bed. . . . +Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut-DAH<i>cut</i> . . . Every moment is precious, +for the Goose Girl will find us, when she gathers the +strawberries for her luncheon . . . Cut-cut-cut-cut! On the +way out we can find sweet places to steal nests . . . +Cut-cut-cut! . . . I am so glad I am not sitting this heavenly +morning; it <i>is</i> a dull life.”</p> +<p>A Lancashire poultryman drifted into Barbury Green +yesterday. He is an old acquaintance of Mr. Heaven, and +spent the night and part of the next day at Thornycroft +Farm. He possessed a deal of fowl philosophy, and tells +many a good hen story, which, like fish stories, draw rather +largely on the credulity of the audience. We were sitting +in the rickyard talking comfortably about laying and cackling and +kindred matters when he took his pipe from his mouth and told us +the following tale—not a bad one if you can translate the +dialect:—</p> +<p>‘Aw were once towd as, if yo’ could only get +th’ hen’s egg away afooar she hed sin it, th’ +hen ’ud think it hed med a mistek an’ sit deawn +ageean an’ lay another.</p> +<p>“An’ it seemed to me it were a varra sensible way +o’ lukkin’ at it. Sooa aw set to wark to mek a +nest as ’ud tek a rise eawt o’ th’ hens. +An’ aw dud it too. Aw med a nest wi’ a fause +bottom, th’ idea bein’ as when a hen hed laid, +th’ egg ’ud drop through into a box underneyth.</p> +<p>“Aw felt varra preawd o’ that nest, too, aw con +tell yo’, an’ aw remember aw felt quite excited when +aw see an awd black Minorca, th’ best layer as aw hed, gooa +an’ settle hersel deawn i’ th’ nest an’ +get ready for wark. Th’ hen seemed quite comfortable +enough, aw were glad to see, an’ geet through th’ +operation beawt ony seemin’ trouble.</p> +<p>“Well, aw darsay yo’ know heaw a hen carries on as +soon as it’s laid a egg. It starts +“chuckin’” away like a showman’s racket, +an’ after tekkin’ a good Ink at th’ egg to see +whether it’s a big ’un or a little ’un, gooas +eawt an’ tells all t’other hens abeawt it.</p> +<p>“Neaw, this black Minorca, as aw sed, were a owdish +bird, an’ maybe knew mooar than aw thowt. Happen it +hed laid on a nest wi’ a fause bottom afooar, an’ +were up to th’ trick, but whether or not, aw never see a +hen luk mooar disgusted i’ mi life when it lukked i’ +th’ nest an’ see as it hed hed all that trouble fer +nowt.</p> +<p>“It woked reawnd th’ nest as if it couldn’t +believe its own eyes.</p> +<p>“But it dudn’t do as aw expected. Aw +expected as it ’ud sit deawn ageean an’ lay +another.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Varra like it laid away in a spot wheear it could hev +summat to luk at when it hed done wark for th’ day.</p> +<p>“Sooa aw lost mi best layer through mi actin’, +an’ aw’ve never invented owt sen.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p43.jpg"> +<img alt="More pride of bearing, and less to be proud of" +src="images/p43.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>There is nothing on earth so feminine as a hen—not +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 <i>petite comédie humaine</i>, 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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p46b.jpg"> +<img alt="Mr. Heaven discomfited" src="images/p46s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">July 12th.</p> +<p>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 +Phœbe has taken them away and given them to another hen who +has only seven. Two mothers cannot be wasted on these small +families—it would not be profitable; and the older mother, +having been tried and found faithful over seven, has been given +the other nine and accepted them. What of the bereft +one? She is miserable and stands about moping and forlorn, +but it is no use fighting against the inevitable; hens’ +hearts must obey the same laws that govern the rotation of +crops. Catherine of Aragon feels her lot a bitter one just +now, but in time she will succumb, and lay, which is more to the +point.</p> +<p>We have had a very busy evening, beginning with the +rats’ supper—delicate sandwiches of bread-and-butter +spread with Paris green.</p> +<p>We have a new brood of seventeen ducklings just hatched this +afternoon. When we came to the nest the yellow and brown +bunches of down and fluff were peeping out from under the +hen’s wings in the prettiest fashion in the world.</p> +<p>“It’s a noble hen!” I said to +Phœbe.</p> +<p>“She ain’t so nowble as she looks,” +Phœbe answered grimly. “It was another +’en that brooded these eggs for near on three weeks and +then this big one come along with a fancy she’d like a +family ’erself if she could steal one without too much +trouble; so she drove the rightful ’en off the nest, +finished up the last few days, and ’ere she is in +possession of the ducklings!”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you take them away from her and give +them back to the first hen, who did most of the work?” I +asked, with some spirit.</p> +<p>“Like as not she wouldn’t tyke them now,” +said Phœbe, as she lifted the hen off the broken egg-shells +and moved her gently into a clean box, on a bed of fresh +hay. We put food and drink within reach of the family, and +very proud and handsome that highway robber of a hen looked, as +she stretched her wings over the seventeen easily-earned +ducklings.</p> +<p>Going back to the old nesting-box, I found one egg forgotten +among the shells. It was still warm, and I took it up to +run across the field with it to Phœbe. It was heavy, +and the carrying of it was a queer sensation, inasmuch as it +squirmed and “yipped” vociferously in transit, +threatening so unmistakably to hatch in my hand that I was +decidedly nervous. The intrepid little youngster burst his +shell as he touched Phœbe’s apron, and has become the +strongest and handsomest of the brood.</p> +<p>All this tending of downy young things, this feeding and +putting to bed, this petting and nursing and rearing, is such +pretty, comforting woman’s work. I am sure +Phœbe will make a better wife to the carrier for having +been a poultry-maid, and though good enough for most practical +purposes when I came here, I am an infinitely better woman +now. I am afraid I was not particularly nice the last few +days at the Hydro. Such a lot of dull, prosy, inquisitive, +bothering old tabbies! Aunt Margaret furnishing imaginary +symptoms enough to keep a fond husband and two trained nurses +distracted; a man I had never encouraged in my life coming to +stay in the neighbourhood and turning up daily for rejection; +another man taking rooms at the very hotel with the avowed +purpose of making my life a burden; and on the heels of both, a +widow of thirty-five in full chase! Small wonder I thought +it more dignified to retire than to compete, and so I did.</p> +<p>I need not, however, have cut the threads that bound me to +Oxenbridge with such particularly sharp scissors, nor given them +such a vicious snap; for, so far as I can observe, the little +world of which I imagined myself the sun continues to revolve, +and, probably, about some other centre. I can well imagine +who has taken up that delightful but somewhat exposed and +responsible position—it would be just like her!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p51b.jpg"> +<img alt="Threatened . . . to hatch in my hand" +src="images/p51s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I am perfectly happy where I am; it is not that; but it seems +so strange that they can be perfectly happy without me, after all +that they—after all that was said on the subject not many +days ago. Nothing turns out as one expects. There +have been no hot pursuits, no rewards offered, no bills posted, +no printed placards issued describing the beauty and charms of a +young person who supposed herself the cynosure of every +eye. Heigh-ho! What does it matter, after all? +One can always be a Goose Girl!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>I wonder if the hen mother is quite, quite satisfied with her +ducklings! Do you suppose the fact of hatching and brooding +them breaks down all the sense of difference? Does she not +sometimes reflect that if her children were the ordinary sort, +and not these changelings, she would be enjoying certain pretty +little attentions dear to a mother’s heart? The +chicks would be pecking the food off her broad beak with their +tiny ones, and jumping on her back to slide down her glossy +feathers. They would be far nicer to cuddle, too, so small +and graceful and light; the changelings are a trifle solid and +brawny. And personally, just as a matter of taste, would +she not prefer wee, round, glancing heads, and pointed beaks, +peeping from under her wings, to these teaspoon-shaped things +larger than her own? I wonder!</p> +<p>We are training fourteen large young chickens to sit on the +perches in their new house, instead of huddling together on the +floor as has been their habit, because we discover rat-holes +under the wire flooring occasionally, and fear that toes may be +bitten. At nine o’clock Phœbe and I lift the +chickens one by one, and, as it were, glue them to their perches, +squawking. Three nights have we gone patiently through with +this performance, but they have not learned the lesson. The +ducks and geese are, however, greatly improved by the application +of advanced educational methods, and the <i>régime</i> of +perfect order and system instituted by Me begins to show +results.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p53b.jpg"> +<img alt="One can always be a Goose Girl" src="images/p53s.jpg" +/> +</a></p> +<p>There is no more violent splashing and pebbling, racing, +chasing, separating. The pole, indeed, still has to be +produced, but at the first majestic wave of my hand they scuttle +toward the shore. The geese turn to the right, cross the +rickyard, and go to their pen; the May ducks turn to the left for +their coops, the June ducks follow the hens to the top meadow, +and even the idiot gosling has an inspiration now and then and +stumbles on his own habitation.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p54.jpg"> +<img alt="The geese . . . cross the rickyard" +src="images/p54.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Mrs. Heaven has no reverence for the principles of Comenius, +Pestalozzi, or Herbert Spencer as applied to poultry, and when +the ducks and geese came out of the pond badly the other night +and went waddling and tumbling and hissing all over creation, did +not approve of my sending them back into the pond to start +afresh.</p> +<p>“I consider it a great waste of time, of good time, +miss,” she said; “and, after all, do you consider +that educated poultry will be any better eating, or that it will +lay more than one egg a day, miss?”</p> +<p>I have given the matter some attention, and I fear Mrs. Heaven +is right. A duck, a goose, or a hen in which I have +developed a larger brain, implanted a sense of duty, or instilled +an idea of self-government, is likely, on the whole, to be +leaner, not fatter. There is nothing like obeying the voice +of conscience for taking the flesh off one’s bones; and, +speaking of conscience, Phœbe, whose metaphysics are of the +farm farmy, says that hers “felt like a hunlaid hegg for +dyes” after she had jilted the postman.</p> +<p>As to the eggs, I am sure the birds will go on laying one a +day for ’tis their nature to. Whether the product of +the intelligent, conscious, logical fowl, will be as rich in +quality as that of the uneducated and barbaric bird, I cannot +say; but it ought at least to be equal to the Denmark egg eaten +now by all Londoners; and if, perchance, left uneaten, it is +certain to be a very superior wife and mother.</p> +<p>While we are discussing the subject of educating poultry, I +confess that the case of Cannibal Ann gives me much +anxiety. Twice in her short career has she been under +suspicion of eating her own eggs, but Phœbe has never +succeeded in catching her <i>in flagrante delicto</i>. That +eminent detective service was reserved for me, and I have been +haunted by the picture ever since. It is an awful sight to +witness a hen gulp her own newly-laid fresh egg, yolk, white, +shell, and all; to realise that you have fed, sheltered, chased, +and occasionally run in, a being possessed of no moral sense, a +being likely to set a bad example, inculcate vicious habits among +her innocent sisters, and lower the standard of an entire +poultry-yard. <i>The Young Poultry Keeper’s +Friend</i> gives us no advice on this topic, and we do not know +whether to treat Cannibal Ann as the victim of a disease, or as a +confirmed criminal; whether to administer remedies or cut her off +in the flower of her youth.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p56b.jpg"> +<img alt="Poor little chap, . . . ’e never was a fyvorite" +src="images/p56s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>We have had a sad scene to-night. A chick has been +ailing all day, and when we shut up the brood we found him dead +in a corner.</p> +<p>Phœbe put him on the ground while she busied herself +about the coop. The other chicks came out and walked about +the dead one again and again, eyeing him curiously.</p> +<p>“Poor little chap!” said Phœbe. +“’E’s never ’ad a mother! ’E +was an incubytor chicken, and wherever I took ’im ’e +was picked at. There was somethink wrong with ’im; +’e never was a fyvorite!”</p> +<p>I put the fluffy body into a hole in the turf, and strewed a +handful of grass over him. “Sad little +epitaph!” I thought. “He never was a +fyvorite!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">July 13th.</p> +<p>I like to watch the Belgian hares eating their trifolium or +pea-pods or grass; graceful, gentle things they are, crowding +about Mr. Heaven, and standing prettily, not greedily, on their +hind legs, to reach for the clover, their delicate nostrils and +whiskers all a-quiver with excitement.</p> +<p>As I look out of my window in the dusk I can see one of the +mothers galloping across the enclosure, the soft white lining of +her tail acting as a beacon-light to the eight infant hares +following her, a quaint procession of eight white spots in it +glancing line. In the darkest night those baby creatures +could follow their mother through grass or hedge or thicket, and +she would need no warning note to show them where to flee in case +of danger. “All you have to do is to follow the white +night-light that I keep in the lining of my tail,” she +says, when she is giving her first maternal lectures; and it +seems a beneficent provision of Nature. To be sure, Mr. +Heaven took his gun and went out to shoot wild rabbits to-day, +and I noted that he marked them by those same self-betraying +tails, as they scuttled toward their holes or leaped toward the +protecting cover of the hedge; so it does not appear whether +Nature is on the side of the farmer or the rabbit . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p59b.jpg"> +<img alt="Mr. Heaven . . . went out to shoot wild rabbits" +src="images/p59s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>There is as much comedy and as much tragedy in poultry life as +anywhere, and already I see rifts within lutes. We have in +a cage a French gentleman partridge married to a Hungarian lady +of defective sight. He paces back and forth in the pen +restlessly, anything but content with the domestic +fireside. One can see plainly that he is devoted to the +Boulevards, and that if left to his own inclinations he would +never have chosen any spouse but a thorough Parisienne.</p> +<p>The Hungarian lady is blind of one eye, from some stray shot, +I suppose. She is melancholy at all times, and occasionally +goes so far as to beat her head against the wire netting. +If liberated, Mr. Heaven says that her blindness would only +expose her to death at the hands of the first sportsman, and it +always seems to me as if she knows this, and is ever trying to +decide whether a loveless marriage is any better than the +tomb.</p> +<p>Then, again, the great, grey gander is, for some mysterious +reason, out of favour with the entire family. He is a noble +and amiable bird, by far the best all-round character in the +flock, for dignity of mien and large-minded common-sense. +What is the treatment vouchsafed to this blameless husband and +father? One that puts anybody out of sorts with virtue and +its scant rewards. To begin with, the others will not allow +him to go into the pond. There is an organised cabal +against it, and he sits solitary on the bank, calm and resigned, +but, naturally, a trifle hurt. His favourite retreat is a +tiny sort of island on the edge of the pool under the alders, +where with his bent head, and red-rimmed philosophic eyes he +regards his own breast and dreams of happier days. When the +others walk into the country twenty-three of them keep together, +and Burd Alane (as I have named him from the old ballad) walks by +himself. The lack of harmony is so evident here, and the +slight so intentional and direct, that it almost moves me to +tears. The others walk soberly, always in couples, but even +Burd Alane’s rightful spouse is on the side of the +majority, and avoids her consort.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p61b.jpg"> +<img alt="Out of favour with the entire family" +src="images/p61s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>What is the nature of his offence? There can be no +connubial jealousies, I judge, as geese are strictly monogamous, +and having chosen a partner of their joys and sorrows they cleave +to each other until death or some other inexorable circumstance +does them part. If they are ever mistaken in their choice, +and think they might have done better, the world is none the +wiser. Burd Alane looks in good condition, but Phœbe +thinks he is not quite himself, and that some day when he is in +greater strength he will turn on his foes and rend them, +regaining thus his lost prestige, for formerly he was king of the +flock.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Phœbe has not a vestige of sentiment. She just +asked me if I would have a duckling or a gosling for dinner; that +there were two quite ready—the brown and yellow duckling, +that is the last to leave the water at night, and the white +gosling that never knows his own ’ouse. Which would I +’ave, and would I ’ave it with sage and onion?</p> +<p>Now, had I found a duckling on the table at dinner I should +have eaten it without thinking at all, or with the thought that +it had come from Barbury Green. But eat a duckling that I +have stoned out of the pond, pursued up the bank, chased behind +the wire netting, caught, screaming, in a corner, and carried +struggling to his bed? Feed upon an idiot gosling that I +have found in nine different coops on nine successive +nights—in with the newly-hatched chicks, the half-grown +pullets, the setting hen, the “invaleed goose,” the +drake with the gapes, the old ducks in the pen?—Eat a +gosling that I have caught and put in with his brothers and +sisters (whom he never recognises) so frequently and regularly +that I am familiar with every joint in his body?</p> +<p>In the first place, with my own small bump of locality and +lack of geography, I would never willingly consume a creature who +might, by some strange process of assimilation, make me worse in +this respect; in the second place, I should have to be ravenous +indeed to sit down deliberately and make a meal of an intimate +friend, no matter if I had not a high opinion of his +intelligence. I should as soon think of eating the Square +Baby, stuffed with sage and onion and garnished with green +apple-sauce, as the yellow duckling or the idiot gosling.</p> +<p>Mrs. Heaven has just called me into her sitting-room, +ostensibly to ask me to order breakfast, but really for the +pleasure of conversation. Why she should inquire whether I +would relish some gammon of bacon with eggs, when she knows that +there has not been, is not now, and never will be, anything but +gammon of bacon with eggs, is more than I can explain.</p> +<p>“Would you like to see my flowers, miss?” she +asks, folding her plump hands over her white apron. +“They are looking beautiful this morning. I am so +fond of potted plants, of plants in pots. Look at these +geraniums! Now, I consider that pink one a perfect bloom; +yes, a perfect bloom. This is a fine red one, is it not, +miss? Especially fine, don’t you think? The +trouble with the red variety is that they’re apt to get +“bobby” and have to be washed regularly; quite bobby +they do get indeed, I assure you. That white one has just +gone out of blossom, and it was really wonderful. You could +’ardly have told it from a paper flower, miss, not from a +white paper flower. My plants are my children nowadays, +since Albert Edward is my only care. I have been the mother +of eleven children, miss, all of them living, so far as I know; I +know nothing to the contrary. I ’ope you are not +wearying of this solitary place, miss? It will grow upon +you, I am sure, as it did upon Mrs. Pollock, with all her +peculiar fancies, and as it ’as grown upon us.—We +formerly had a butcher’s shop in Buffington, and it was +naturally a great responsibility. Mr. Heaven’s nerves +are not strong, and at last he wanted a life of more quietude, +more quietude was what he craved. The life of a retail +butcher is a most exciting and wearying one. Nobody +satisfied with their meat; as if it mattered in a world of +change! Everybody complaining of too much bone or too +little fat; nobody wishing tough chops or cutlets, but always +seeking after fine joints, when it’s against reason and +nature that all joints should be juicy and all cutlets tender; +always complaining if livers are not sent with every fowl, always +asking you to remember the trimmin’s, always wanting their +beef well ’ung, and then if you ’ang it a minute too +long, it’s left on your ’ands! I often used to +say to Mr. Heaven, yes many’s the time I’ve said it, +that if people would think more of the great ’ereafter and +less about their own little stomachs, it would be a deal better +for them, yes, a deal better, and make it much more comfortable +for the butchers!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p65b.jpg"> +<img alt="The life . . . is a most exciting and wearying one" +src="images/p65s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Burd Alane has had a good quarter of an hour to-day.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p66.jpg"> +<img alt="His spouse took a brief promenade with him" +src="images/p66.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>His spouse took a brief promenade with him. To be sure, +it was during an absence of the flock on the other side of the +hedge so that the moral effect of her spasm of wifely loyalty was +quite lost upon them. I strongly suspect that she would not +have granted anything but a secret interview. What a petty, +weak, ignoble character! I really don’t like to think +so badly of any fellow-creature as I am forced to think of that +politic, time-serving, pusillanimous goose. I believe she +laid the egg that produced the idiot gosling!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>Here follows the true story of Sir Muscovy Drake, the Lady +Blanche, and Miss Malardina Crippletoes.</p> +<p>Phœbe’s flock consisted at first mostly of Brown +Mallards, but a friend gave her a sitting of eggs warranted to +produce a most beautiful variety of white ducks. They were +hatched in due time, but proved hard to raise, till at length +there was only one survivor, of such uncommon grace and beauty +that we called her the Lady Blanche. Presently a neighbour +sold Phœbe his favourite Muscovy drake, and these two +splendid creatures by “natural selection” disdained +to notice the rest of the flock, but forming a close friendship, +wandered in the pleasant paths of duckdom together, swimming and +eating quite apart from the others.</p> +<p>In the brown flock there was one unfortunate, misshapen from +the egg, quite lame, and with no smoothness of plumage; but on +that very account, apparently, or because she was too weak to +resist them, the others treated her cruelly, biting her and +pushing her away from the food.</p> +<p>One day it happened that the two ducks—Sir Muscovy and +Lady Blanche—had come up from the water before the others, +and having taken their repast were sitting together under the +shade of a flowering currant-bush, when they chanced to see poor +Miss Crippletoes very badly used and crowded away from the +dish. Sir Muscovy rose to his feet; a few rapid words +seemed to pass between him and his mate, and then he fell upon +the other drake and the heartless minions who had persecuted the +helpless one, drove them far away out of sight, and, returning, +went to the corner where the victim was cowering, her face to the +wall. He seemed to whisper to her, or in some way to convey +to her a sense of protection; for after a few moments she +tremblingly went with him to the dish, and hurriedly ate her +dinner while he stood by, repulsing the advances of the few brown +ducks who remained near and seemed inclined to attack her.</p> +<p>When she had eaten enough Lady Blanche joined them, and they +went down the hill together to their favourite +swimming-place. After that Miss Crippletoes always followed +a little behind her protectors, and thus shielded and fed she +grew stronger and well-feathered, though she was always smaller +than she should have been and had a lowly manner, keeping a few +steps in the rear of her superiors and sitting at some distance +from their noon resting-place.</p> +<p>Phœbe noticed after a while that Lady Blanche was seldom +to be seen, and Sir Muscovy and Miss Crippletoes often came to +their meals without her. The would-be mother refused to +inhabit the house Phœbe had given her, and for a long time +the place she had chosen for her sitting could not be +found. At length the Square Baby discovered her in a most +ideal spot. A large boulder had dropped years ago into the +brook that fills our duck-pond; dropped and split in halves with +the two smooth walls leaning away from each other. A grassy +bank towered behind, and on either side of the opening, tall +bushes made a miniature forest where the romantic mother could +brood her treasures while her two guardians enjoyed the water +close by her retreat.</p> +<p>All this happened before my coming to Thornycroft Farm, but it +was I who named the hero and heroines of the romance when +Phœbe had told me all the particulars. Yesterday +morning I was sitting by my open window. It was warm, +sunny, and still, but in the country sounds travel far, and I +could hear fowl conversation in various parts of the poultry-yard +as well as in all the outlying bits of territory occupied by our +feathered friends. Hens have only three words and a scream +in their language, but ducks, having more thoughts to express, +converse quite fluently, so fluently, in fact, that it reminds me +of dinner at the Hydropathic Hotel. I fancy I have learned +to distinguish seven separate sounds, each varied by degrees of +intensity, and with upward or downward inflections like the +Chinese tongue.</p> +<p>In the distance, then, I heard the faint voice of a duck +calling as if breathless and excited. While I wondered what +was happening, I saw Miss Crippletoes struggling up the steep +bank above the duck-pond. It was the quickest way from the +water to the house, but difficult for the little lame webbed +feet. When she reached the level grass sward she sank down +a moment, exhausted; but when she could speak again she cried +out, a sharp staccato call, and ran forward.</p> +<p>Instantly she was answered from a distant knoll, where for +some reason Sir Muscovy loved to retire for meditation. The +cries grew lower and softer as the birds approached each other, +and they met at the corner just under my window. Instantly +they put their two bills together and the loud cries changed to +confiding murmurs. Evidently some hurried questions and +answers passed between them, and then Sir Muscovy waddled rapidly +by the quickest path, Miss Crippletoes following him at a slower +pace, and both passed out of sight, using their wings to help +their feet down the steep declivity. The next morning, when +I wakened early, my first thought was to look out, and there on +the sunny greensward where they were accustomed to be fed, Sir +Muscovy, Lady Blanche, and their humble maid, Malardina +Crippletoes, were scattering their own breakfast before the bills +of twelve beautiful golden balls of ducklings. The little +creatures could never have climbed the bank, but must have +started from their nest at dawn, coming round by the brook to the +level at the foot of the garden, and so by slow degrees up to the +house.</p> +<p>Judging from what I heard and knew of their habits, I am sure +the excitement of the previous morning was occasioned by the +hatching of the eggs, and that Lady Blanche had hastily sent her +friend to call Sir Muscovy, the family remaining together until +they could bring the babies with them and display their beauty to +Phœbe and me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">July 14th.</p> +<p>We are not wholly without the pleasures of the town in Barbury +Green. Once or twice in a summer, late on a Saturday +afternoon, a procession of red and yellow vans drives into a +field near the centre of the village. By the time the vans +are unpacked all the children in the community are surrounding +the gate of entrance. There is rifle-shooting, there is +fortune-telling, there are games of pitch and toss, and swings, +and French bagatelle; and, to crown all, a wonderful orchestrion +that goes by steam. The water is boiled for the +public’s tea, and at the same time thrilling strains of +melody are flung into the air. There is at present only one +tune in the orchestrion’s repertory, but it is a very good +tune; though after hearing it three hundred and seven times in a +single afternoon, it pursues one, sleeping and waking, for the +next week. Phœbe and I took the Square Baby and went +in to this diversified entertainment. There was a small +crowd of children at the entrance, but as none of them seemed to +be provided with pennies, and I felt in a fairy godmother mood, I +offered them the freedom of the place at my expense.</p> +<p>I never purchased more radiant good-will for less money, but +the combined effect of the well-boiled tea and the boiling +orchestrion produced many village nightmares, so the mothers told +me at chapel next morning.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>I have many friends in Barbury Green, and often have a +pleasant chat with the draper, and the watchmaker, and the +chemist.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p74b.jpg"> +<img alt="The freedom of the place at my expense" +src="images/p74s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The last house on the principal street is rather an ugly one, +with especially nice window curtains. As I was taking my +daily walk to the post-office (an entirely unfruitful expedition +thus far, as nobody has taken the pains to write to me) I saw a +nursemaid coming out of the gate, wheeling a baby in a +perambulator. She was going placidly away from the Green +when, far in the distance, she espied a man walking rapidly +toward us, a heavy Gladstone bag in one hand. She gazed +fixedly for a moment, her eyes brightening and her cheeks +flushing with pleasure,—whoever it was, it was an +unexpected arrival;—then she retraced her steps and, +running up the garden-path, opened the front door and held an +excited colloquy with somebody; a slender somebody in a nice +print gown and neatly-dressed hair, who came to the gate and +peeped beyond the hedge several times, drawing back between peeps +with smiles and heightened colour. She did not run down the +road, even when she had satisfied herself of the identity of the +traveller; perhaps that would not have been good form in an +English village, for there were houses on the opposite side of +the way. She waited until he opened the gate, the nursemaid +took the bag and looked discreetly into the hedge, then the +mistress slipped her hand through the traveller’s arm and +walked up the path as if she had nothing else in the world to +wish for. The nurse had a part in the joy, for she lifted +the baby out of the perambulator and showed proudly how much he +had grown.</p> +<p>It was a dear little scene, and I, a passer-by, had shared in +it and felt better for it. I think their content was no +less because part of it had enriched my life, for happiness, like +mercy, is twice blessed; it blesses those who are most intimately +associated in it, and it blesses all those who see it, hear it, +feel it, touch it, or breathe the same atmosphere. A +laughing, crowing baby in a house, one cheerful woman singing +about her work, a boy whistling at the plough, a romance just +suspected, with its miracle of two hearts melting into +one—the wind’s always in the west when you have any +of these wonder-workers in your neighbourhood.</p> +<p>I have talks too, sometimes, with the old parson, who lives in +a quaint house with “<i>Parva Domus Magna Quies</i>” +cut into the stone over the doorway. He is not a preaching +parson, but a retired one, almost the nicest kind, I often +think.</p> +<p>He has been married thirty years, he tells me; thirty years, +spent in the one little house with the bricks painted red and +grey alternately, and the scarlet holly-hocks growing under the +windows. I am sure they have been sweet, true, kind years, +and that his heart must be a quiet, peaceful place just like his +house and garden.</p> +<p>“I was only eleven years old when I fell in love with my +wife,” he told me as we sat on the seat under the +lime-tree; he puffing cosily at his pipe, I plaiting grasses for +a hatband.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p77b.jpg"> +<img alt="Puffing cosily at his pipe" src="images/p77s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>“It was just before Sunday-school. Her mother had +dressed her all in white muslin like a fairy, but she had stepped +on the edge of a puddle, and some of the muddy water had +bespattered her frock. A circle of children had surrounded +her, and some of the motherly little girls were on their knees +rubbing at the spots anxiously, while one of them wiped away the +tears that were running down her pretty cheeks. I +looked! It was fatal! I did not look again, but I was +smitten to the very heart! I did not speak to her for six +years, but when I did, it was all right with both of us, thank +God! and I’ve been in love with her ever since, when she +behaves herself!”</p> +<p>That is the way they speak of love in Barbury Green, and oh! +how much sweeter and more wholesome it is than the language of +the town! Who would not be a Goose Girl, “to win the +secret of the weed’s plain heart”? It seems to +me that in society we are always gazing at magic-lantern shows, +but here we rest our tired eyes with looking at the stars.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p79b.jpg"> +<img alt="A Hen Conference" src="images/p79s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right">July 16th.</p> +<p>Phœbe and I have been to a Hen Conference at +Buffington. It was for the purpose of raising the standard +of the British Hen, and our local Countess, who is much +interested in poultry, was in the chair.</p> +<p>It was a very learned body, but Phœbe had coached me so +well that at the noon recess I could talk confidently with the +members, discussing the various advantages of True and Crossed +Minorcas, Feverels, Andalusians, Cochin Chinas, Shanghais, and +the White Leghorn. (Phœbe, when she pronounces this +word, leaves out the “h” and bears down heavily on +the last syllable, so that it rhymes with begone!)</p> +<p>As I was sitting under the trees waiting for Phœbe to +finish some shopping in the village, a travelling poultry-dealer +came along and offered to sell me a silver Wyandotte pullet and +cockerel. This was a new breed to me and I asked the price, +which proved to be more than I should pay for a hat in Bond +Street. I hesitated, thinking meantime what a delightful +parting gift they would be for Phœbe; I mean if we ever +should part, which seems more and more unlikely, as I shall never +leave Thornycroft until somebody comes properly to fetch me; +indeed, unless the “fetching” is done somewhat +speedily I may decline to go under any circumstances. My +indecision as to the purchase was finally banished when the +poultryman asserted that the fowls had clear open centres all +over, black lacing entirely round the white centres, were free +from white edging, and each had a cherry-red eye. This +catalogue of charms inflamed my imagination, though it gave me no +mental picture of a silver Wyandotte fowl, and I paid the money +while the dealer crammed the chicks, squawking into my +five-o’clock tea-basket.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p81b.jpg"> +<img alt="Arguing questions of diet" src="images/p81s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The afternoon session of the conference was most exciting, for +we reached the subject of imported eggs, an industry that is +assuming terrifying proportions. The London hotel egg comes +from Denmark, it seems,—I should think by sailing vessel, +not steamer, but I may be wrong. After we had settled that +the British Hen should be protected and encouraged, and agreed +solemnly to abstain from Danish eggs in any form, and made a +resolution stating that our loyalty to Queen Alexandra would +remain undiminished, we argued the subject of hen diet. +There was a great difference of opinion here and the discussion +was heated; the honorary treasurer standing for pulped mangold +and flint grit, the chair insisting on barley meal and randans, +while one eloquent young woman declared, to loud cries of +“’Ear, ’ear!” that rice pudding and bone +chips produce more eggs to the square hen than any other sort of +food. Impassioned orators arose here and there in the +audience demanding recognition for beef scraps, charcoal, round +corn or buckwheat. Foods were regarded from various +standpoints: as general invigorators, growth assisters, and egg +producers. A very handsome young farmer carried off final +honours, and proved to the satisfaction of all the feminine +poultry-raisers that green young hog bones fresh cut in the +Banner Bone Breaker (of which he was the agent) possessed a +nutritive value not to be expressed in human language.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p82b.jpg"> +<img alt="The afternoon session was most exciting" +src="images/p82s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Phœbe was distinctly nervous when I rose to say a few +words on poultry breeding, announcing as my topic “Mothers, +Stepmothers, Foster-Mothers, and Incubators.” +Protected by the consciousness that no one in the assemblage +could possibly know me, I made a distinct success in my maiden +speech; indeed, I somewhat overshot the mark, for the Countess in +the chair sent me a note asking me to dine with her that +evening. I suppressed the note and took Phœbe away +before the proceedings were finished, vanishing from the scene of +my triumphs like a veiled prophet.</p> +<p>Just as we were passing out the door we paused to hear the +report of a special committee whose chairman read the following +resolutions:—</p> +<p><i>Whereas</i>,—It has pleased the Almighty to remove +from our midst our greatest Rose Comb Buff Orpington fancier and +esteemed friend, Albert Edward Sheridain; therefore be it</p> +<p><i>Resolved</i>,—That the next edition of our catalogue +contain an illustrated memorial page in his honour and</p> +<p><i>Resolved</i>,—That the Rose Comb Buff Orpington Club +extend to the bereaved family their heartfelt sympathy.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p84b.jpg"> +<img alt="Not asked to the Conference" src="images/p84s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The handsome young farmer followed us out to our trap, invited +us to attend the next meeting of the R. C. B. O. Club, of which +he was the secretary, and asked if I were intending to +“show.” I introduced Phœbe as the senior +partner, and she concealed the fact that we possessed but one +Buff Orpington, and he was a sad “invaleed” not +suitable for exhibition. The farmer’s expression as +he looked at me was almost lover-like, and when he pressed a bit +of paper into my hand I was sure it must be an offer of +marriage. It was in fact only a circular describing the +Banner Bone Breaker. It closed with an appeal to Buff +Orpington breeders to raise and ever raise the standard, bidding +them remember, in the midst of a low-minded and sordid +civilisation, that the rose comb should be small and neat, firmly +set on, with good working, a nice spike at the back lying well +down to head, and never, under any circumstances, never sticking +up. This adjuration somewhat alarmed us as Phœbe and +I had been giving our Buff Orpington cockerel the most drastic +remedies for his languid and prostrate comb.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p85b.jpg"> +<img alt="Coming home" src="images/p85s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Coming home we alighted from the trap to gather hogweed for +the rabbits. I sat by the wayside lazily and let +Phœbe gather the appetising weed, which grows along the +thorniest hedges in close proximity to nettles and thistles.</p> +<p>Workmen were trudging along with their luncheon-baskets of +woven bulrushes slung over their shoulders. Fields of +ripening grain lay on either hand, the sun shining on their every +shade of green and yellow, bronze and orange, while the breeze +stirred the bearded barley into a rippling golden sea.</p> +<p>Phœbe asked me if the people I had left behind at the +Hydropathic were my relatives.</p> +<p>“Some of them are of remote consanguinity,” I +responded evasively, and the next question was hushed upon her +awe-stricken tongue, as I intended.</p> +<p>“They are obeying my wish to be let alone, there’s +no doubt of that,” I was thinking. “For my +part, I like a little more spirit, and a little less +‘letter’!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p87b.jpg"> +<img alt="Workmen were trudging home" src="images/p87s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>As the word “letter” flitted through my thoughts, +I pulled one from my pocket and glanced through it +carelessly. It arrived, somewhat tardily, only last night, +or I should not have had it with me. I wore the same dress +to the post-office yesterday that I wore to the Hen Conference +to-day, and so it chanced to be still in the pocket. If it +had been anything I valued, of course I should have lost or +destroyed it by mistake; it is only silly, worthless little +things like this that keep turning up and turning up after one +has forgotten their existence.</p> +<blockquote><p>“You are a mystery!” [it ran.] +“I can apprehend, but not comprehend you. I know you +in part. I understand various bits of your nature; but my +knowledge is always fragmentary and disconnected, and when I +attempt to make a whole of the mosaics I merely get a +kaleidoscopic effect. Do you know those geographical +dissected puzzles that they give to children? You remind me +of one of them.</p> +<p>“I have spent many charming (and dangerous) hours trying +to ‘put you together’; but I find, when I examine my +picture closely, that after all I’ve made a purple mountain +grow out of a green tree; that my river is running up a steep +hillside; and that the pretty milkmaid, who should be wandering +in the forest, is standing on her head with her pail in the +air</p> +<p>“Do you understand yourself clearly? Or is it just +possible that when you dive to the depths of your own +consciousness, you sometimes find the pretty milkmaid standing on +her head? I wonder!” . . .</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Ah, well, it is no wonder that he wonders! So do +I, for that matter!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p89b.jpg"> +<img alt="Along the highway" src="images/p89s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right">July 17th.</p> +<p>Thornycroft Farm seems to be the musical centre of the +universe.</p> +<p>When I wake very early in the morning I lie in a drowsy sort +of dream, trying to disentangle, one from the other, the various +bird notes, trills, coos, croons, chirps, chirrups, and +warbles. Suddenly there falls on the air a delicious, +liquid, finished song; so pure, so mellow, so joyous, that I go +to the window and look out at the morning world, half awakened, +like myself.</p> +<p>There is I know not what charm in a window that does not push +up, but opens its lattices out into the greenness. And mine +is like a little jewelled door, for the sun is shining from +behind the chimneys and lighting the tiny diamond panes with +amber flashes.</p> +<p>A faint delicate haze lies over the meadow, and rising out of +it, and soaring toward the blue is the lark, flinging out that +matchless matin song, so rich, so thrilling, so lavish! As +the blithe melody fades away, I hear the plaintive +ballad-fragments of the robin on a curtsying branch near my +window; and there is always the liquid pipe of the thrush, who +must quaff a fairy goblet of dew between his songs, I should +think, so fresh and eternally young is his note.</p> +<p>There is another beautiful song that I follow whenever I hear +it, straining my eyes to the treetops, yet never finding a bird +that I can identify as the singer. Can it be the—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ousel-cock so black of hue,<br /> +With orange-tawny bill”?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He is called the poet-laureate of the primrose time, but I +don’t know whether he sings in midsummer, and I have not +seen him hereabouts. I must write and ask my dear Man of +the North. The Man of the North, I sometimes think, had a +Fairy Grandmother who was a robin; and perhaps she made a nest of +fresh moss and put him in the green wood when he was a wee +bairnie, so that he waxed wise in bird-lore without knowing +it. At all events, describe to him the cock of a head, the +glance of an eye, the tip-up of a tail, or the sheen of a +feather, and he will name you the bird. Near-sighted he is, +too, the Man of the North, but that is only for people.</p> +<p>The Square Baby and I have a new game.</p> +<p>I bought a doll’s table and china tea-set in +Buffington. We put it under an apple-tree in the side +garden, where the scarlet lightning grows so tall and the Madonna +lilies stand so white against the flaming background. We +built a little fence around it, and every afternoon at tea-time +we sprinkle seeds and crumbs in the dishes, water in the tiny +cups, drop a cherry in each of the fruit-plates, and have a +<i>thé chantant</i> for the birdies. We sometimes +invite an “invaleed” duckling, or one of the baby +rabbits, or the peacock, in which case the cards read:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><i>Thornycroft +Farm</i>.<br /> +The pleasure of your company is requested<br /> +at a<br /> +<i>Thé Chantant</i><br /> +Under the Apple Tree.<br /> +Music at five.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is a charming game, as I say, but I’d far rather play +it with the Man of the North; he is so much younger than the +Square Baby, and so much more responsive, too.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p92b.jpg"> +<img alt="The scent of the hay" src="images/p92s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Thornycroft Farm is a sweet place, too, of odours as well as +sounds. The scent of the hay is for ever in the nostrils, +the hedges are thick with wild honeysuckle, so deliciously +fragrant, the last of the June roses are lingering to do their +share, and blackberry blossoms and ripening fruit as well.</p> +<p>I have never known a place in which it is so easy to be +good. I have not said a word, nor scarcely harboured a +thought, that was not lovely and virtuous since I entered these +gates, and yet there are those who think me fantastic, difficult, +hard to please, unreasonable!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p93b.jpg"> +<img alt="The last of June" src="images/p93s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I believe the saints must have lived in the country mostly (I +am certain they never tried Hydropathic hotels), and why anybody +with a black heart and natural love of wickedness should not +simply buy a poultry farm and become an angel, I cannot +understand.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p94b.jpg"> +<img alt="A place in which it is so easy to be good" +src="images/p94s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Living with animals is really a very improving and wholesome +kind of life, to the person who will allow himself to be +influenced by their sensible and high-minded ideals. When +you come to think about it, man is really the only animal that +ever makes a fool of himself; the others are highly civilised, +and never make mistakes. I am going to mention this when I +write to somebody, sometime; I mean if I ever do. To be +sure, our human life is much more complicated than theirs, and I +believe when the other animals notice our errors of judgment they +make allowances. The bee is as busy as a bee, and the +beaver works like a beaver, but there their responsibility +ends. The bee doesn’t have to go about seeing that +other bees are not crowded into unsanitary tenements or +victimised by the sweating system. When the beaver’s +day of toil is over he doesn’t have to discuss the sphere, +the rights, or the voting privileges of beaveresses; all he has +to do is to work like a beaver, and that is comparatively +simple.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p96b.jpg"> +<img alt="Not particularly attracted by the poultry" +src="images/p96s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I have been studying <i>The Young Poultry Keeper’s +Friend</i> of late. If there is anything I dislike and +deplore, it is the possession of knowledge which I cannot put to +practical use. Having discovered an interesting disease +called Scaly Leg in the July number, I took the magazine out into +the poultry-yard and identified the malady on three hens and a +cock. Phœbe joined me in the diagnosis and we treated +the victims with a carbolic lotion and scrubbed them with +vaseline.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p97b.jpg"> +<img alt="Leaned languidly against the netting" +src="images/p97s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>As Phœbe and I grow wise in medical lore the case of +Cannibal Ann assumes a different aspect. As the bibulous +man quaffs more and more flagons of beer and wine when his daily +food is ham, salt fish, and cabbage, so does the hen avenge her +wrongs of diet and woes of environment. Cannibal Ann, +herself, has, so far as we know, been raised in a Christian +manner and enjoyed all the advantages of modern methods; but her +maternal parent may have lived in some heathen poultry-yard which +was asphalted or bricked or flagged, so that she was debarred +from scratching in Mother Earth and was forced to eat her own +shells in self-defence.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>The Square Baby is not particularly attracted by the poultry +as a whole, save when it is boiled with bacon or roasted with +bread-sauce; but he is much interested in the +“invaleeds.” Whenever Phœbe and I start +for the hospital with the tobacco-pills, the tin of paraffin, and +the bottle of oil, he is very much in evidence. Perhaps he +has a natural leaning toward the medical profession; at any rate, +when pain and anguish wring the brow, he is in close attendance +upon the ministering angels.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p98.jpg"> +<img alt="Staggered and reeled" src="images/p98.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Now it is necessary for the physician to have practice as well +as theory, so the Square Baby, being left to himself this +afternoon, proceeded to perfect himself in some of the healing +arts used by country practitioners.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p99b.jpg"> +<img alt="Caught her son red-handed" src="images/p99s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>When discovered, he was seated in front of the wire-covered +“run” attached to a coop occupied by the youngest +goslings. A couple of bottles and a box stood by his side, +and I should think he had administered a cup of sweet oil, a pint +of paraffin, and a quarter of a pound of tobacco during his +clinic. He had used the remedies impartially, sometimes +giving the paraffin internally and rubbing the patient’s +head with tobacco or oil, sometimes the reverse.</p> +<p>Several goslings leaned languidly against the netting, or +supported themselves by the edge of the water-dish, while others +staggered and reeled about with eyes half closed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p100b.jpg"> +<img alt="He was treated summarily and smartly" +src="images/p100s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>It was Mrs. Heaven who caught her son red-handed, so to +speak. She was dressed in her best, and just driving off to +Woodmucket to spend a day or two with her married daughter, and +soothe her nerves with the uproar incident to a town of six +hundred inhabitants. She delayed her journey a +half-hour—long enough, in fact, to change her black silk +waist for a loose sacque which would give her arms full and +comfortable play. The joy and astonishment that greeted the +Square Baby on his advent, five years ago, was forgotten for the +first time in his brief life, and he was treated precisely as any +ordinary wrongdoer would have been treated under the same +circumstances, summarily and smartly; the “wepping,” +as Phœbe would say, being Mrs. Heaven’s hand.</p> +<p>All but one of the goslings lived, like thousands of others +who recover in spite of the doctors, but the Square Baby’s +interest in the healing art is now perceptibly lessened.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">July 18th.</p> +<p>The day was Friday; Phœbe’s day to go to +Buffington with eggs and chickens and rabbits; her day to solicit +orders for ducklings and goslings. The village cart was +ready in the stable; Mr. and Mrs. Heaven were in Woodmucket; I +was eating my breakfast (which I remember was an egg and a +rasher) when Phœbe came in, a figure of woe.</p> +<p>The Square Baby was ill, very ill, and would not permit her to +leave him and go to market. Would I look at him? For +he must have dowsed ’imself as well as the goslings +yesterday; anyways he was strong of paraffin and tobacco, though +he ’ad ’ad a good barth.</p> +<p>I prescribed for Albert Edward, who was as uncomfortable and +feverish as any little sinner in the county of Sussex, and I then +promptly proposed going to Buffington in Phœbe’s +place.</p> +<p>She did not think it at all proper, and said that, +notwithstanding my cotton gown and sailor hat, I looked quite, +quite the lydy, and it would never do.</p> +<p>“I cannot get any new orders,” said I, “but +I can certainly leave the rabbits and eggs at the customary +places. I know Argent’s Dining Parlours, and +Songhurst’s Tea Rooms, and the Six Bells Inn, as well as +you do.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p103b.jpg"> +<img alt="The Six Bells found the last poultry somewhat tough" +src="images/p103s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>So, donning a pair of Phœbe’s large white cotton +gloves with open-work wrists (than which I always fancy there is +no one article that so disguises the perfect lydy), I set out +upon my travels, upborne by a lively sense of amusement that was +at least equal to my feeling that I was doing Phœbe Heaven +a good turn.</p> +<p>Prices in dressed poultry were fluctuating, but I had a copy +of <i>The Trade Review</i>, issued that very day, and was able to +get some idea of values and the state of the market as I jogged +along. The general movement, I learned, was moderate and of +a “selective” character. Choice large capons +and ducks were in steady demand, but I blushed for my profession +when I read that roasting chickens were running coarse, staggy, +and of irregular value. Old hens were held firmly at +sixpence, and it is my experience that they always have to be, at +whatever price. Geese were plenty, dull, and weak. +Old cocks,—why don’t they say +roosters?—declined to threepence ha’penny on Thursday +in sympathy with fowls,—and who shall say that chivalry is +dead? Turkeys were a trifle steadier, and there was a +speculative movement in limed eggs. All this was +illuminating, and I only wished I were quite certain whether the +sympathetic old roosters were threepence ha’penny apiece, +or a pound.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p105.jpg"> +<img alt="The gadabout hen" src="images/p105.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Everything happened as it should, on this first business +journey of my life, which is equivalent to saying that nothing +happened at all. Songhurst’s Tea Rooms took five +dozen eggs and told me to bring six dozen the next week. +Argent’s Dining Parlours purchased three pairs of chickens +and four rabbits. The Six Bells found the last poultry +somewhat tough and tasteless; whereupon I said that our orders +were more than we could possibly fill, still I hoped we could go +on “selling them,” as we never liked to part with old +customers, no matter how many new ones there were. +Privately, I understood the complaint only too well, for I knew +the fowls in question very intimately. Two of them were the +runaway rooster and the gadabout hen that never wanted to go to +bed with the others. The third was Cannibal Ann. I +should have expected them to be tough, but I cannot believe they +were lacking in flavour.</p> +<p>The only troublesome feature of the trip was that Mrs. +Sowerbutt’s lodgers had suddenly left for London and she +was unable to take the four rabbits as she had hoped; but as an +offset to that piece of ill-fortune the Coke and Coal Yard and +the Bicycle Repairing Rooms came out into the street, and, +stepping up to the trap, requested regular weekly deliveries of +eggs and chickens, and hoped that I would be able to bring them +myself. And so, in a happy frame of mind, I turned out of +the Buffington main street, and was jogging along homeward, when +a very startling thing happened; namely, a whole verse of the +Bailiff’s Daughter of Islington:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And as she went along the high road,<br /> +The weather being hot and dry,<br /> +She sat her down upon a green bank,<br /> +And her true love came riding by.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That true lovers are given to riding by, in ballads, I know +very well, but I hardly supposed they did so in real life, +especially when every precaution had been taken to avert such a +catastrophe. I had told the Barbury Green postmistress, on +the morning of my arrival, not to give the Thornycroft address to +anybody whatsoever, but finding, as the days passed, that no one +was bold enough or sensible enough to ask for it, I haughtily +withdrew my prohibition. About this time I began sending +envelopes, carefully addressed in a feigned hand, to a certain +person at the Oxenbridge Hydro. These envelopes contained +no word of writing, but held, on one day, only a bit of down from +a hen’s breast, on another, a goose-quill, on another, a +glossy tail-feather, on another, a grain of corn, and so +on. These trifles were regarded by me not as degrading or +unmaidenly hints and suggestions, but simply as tests of +intelligence. Could a man receive tokens of this sort and +fail to put two and two together? I feel that I might +possibly support life with a domineering and autocratic +husband,—and there is every prospect that I shall be called +upon to do so,—but not with a stupid one. Suppose one +were linked for ever to a man capable of asking,—“Did +<i>you</i> send those feathers? . . . How was I to guess? . . . +How was a fellow to know they came from you? . . . What on earth +could I suppose they meant? . . . What clue did they offer me as +to your whereabouts? . . . Am I a Sherlock +Holmes?”—No, better eternal celibacy than marriage +with such a being!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p107b.jpg"> +<img alt="She was unable to take the four rabbits" +src="images/p107s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>These were the thoughts that had been coursing through my +goose-girl mind while I had been selling dressed poultry, but in +some way they had not prepared me for the appearance of the +aforesaid true love.</p> +<p>To see the very person whom one has left civilisation to avoid +is always more or less surprising, and to make the meeting less +likely, Buffington is even farther from Oxenbridge than Barbury +Green. The creature was well mounted (ominous, when he came +to override my caprice!) and he looked bigger, and, yes, +handsomer, though that doesn’t signify, and still more +determined than when I saw him last; although goodness knows that +timidity and feebleness of purpose were not in striking evidence +on that memorable occasion. I had drawn up under the shade +of a tree ostensibly to eat some cherries, thinking that if I +turned my face away I might pass unrecognised. It was a +stupid plan, for if I had whipped up the mare and driven on, he +of course, would have had to follow, and he has too much dignity +and self-respect to shriek recriminations into a woman’s +ear from a distance.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p109b.jpg"> +<img alt="The creature was well mounted" src="images/p109s.jpg" +/> +</a></p> +<p>He approached with deliberation, reined in his horse, and +lifted his hat ceremoniously. He has an extremely shapely +head, but I did not show that the sight of it melted in the least +the ice of my resolve; whereupon we talked, not very freely at +first,—men are so stiff when they consider themselves +injured. However, silence is even more embarrassing than +conversation, so at length I begin:—</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“It is a lovely +day.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Yes, but the drought is getting +rather oppressive, don’t you think?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“The crops +certainly need rain, and the feed is becoming scarce.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Are you a farmer’s +wife?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Oh no! that is a +promotion to look forward to; I am now only a Goose +Girl.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Indeed! If I wished to be +severe I might remark: that I am sure you have found at last your +true vocation!”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“It was certainly +through no desire to please <i>you</i> that I chose +it.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I am quite sure of that! +Are you staying in this part?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Oh no! I +live many miles distant, over an extremely rough road. And +you?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I am still at the Hydropathic; +or at least my luggage is there.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“It must be very +pleasant to attract you so long.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Not so pleasant as it +was.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“No? A new +proprietor, I suppose.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“No; same proprietor; but the +house is empty.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (yawning +purposely).—“That is strange; the hotels are usually +so full at this season. Why did so many leave?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“As a matter of fact, only one +left. ‘Full’ and ‘empty’ are purely +relative terms. I call a hotel full when it has you in it, +empty when it hasn’t.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (dying to laugh, but +concealing her feelings).—“I trust my bulk does not +make the same impression on the general public! Well, I +won’t detain you longer; good afternoon; I must go home to +my evening work.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I will accompany +you.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“If you are a +gentleman you will remain where you are.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“In the road? Perhaps; but +if I am a man I shall follow you; they always do, I notice. +What are those foolish bundles in the back of that silly +cart?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Feed for the +pony, please, sir; fish for dinner; randans and barley meal for +the poultry; and four unsold rabbits. Wouldn’t you +like them? Only one and sixpence apiece. Shot at +three o’clock this morning.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Thanks; I don’t like mine +shot so early.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Oh, well! +doubtless I shall be able to dispose of them on my way home, +though times is ’ard!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Do you mean that you will +“peddle” them along the road?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“You understand +me better than usual,—in fact to perfection.”</p> +<p>He dismounts and strides to the back of the cart, lifts the +covers, seizes the rabbits, flings some silver contemptuously +into the basket, and looks about him for a place to bury his +bargain. A small boy approaching in the far distance will +probably bag the game.</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> +(modestly).—“Thanks for your trade, sir, rather +ungraciously bestowed, and we ’opes for a continuance of +your past fyvors.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (leaning on the wheel of the +trap).—“Let us stop this nonsense. What did you +hope to gain by running away?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Distance and +absence.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“You knew you couldn’t +prevent my offering myself to you sometime or other.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Perhaps not; but +I could at least defer it, couldn’t I?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Why postpone the +inevitable?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Doubtless I +shrank from giving you the pain of a refusal.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Perhaps; but do you know what I +suspect?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“I’m not a +suspicious person, thank goodness!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“That, on the contrary, you are +wilfully withholding from me the joy of acceptance.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“If I intended to +accept you, why did I run away?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“To make yourself more desirable +and precious, I suppose.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (with the most confident +coquetry).—“Did I succeed?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“No; you failed +utterly.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (secretly +piqued).—“Then I am glad I tried it.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“You couldn’t succeed +because you were superlatively desirable and precious already; +but you should never have experimented. Don’t you +know that Love is a high explosive?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Is it? +Then it ought always to be labelled ‘dangerous,’ +oughtn’t it? But who thought of suggesting +matches? I’m sure I didn’t!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“No such luck; I wish you +would.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“According to +your theory, if you apply a match to Love it is likely to +‘go off.’”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I wish you would try it on mine +and await the result. Come now, you’ll have to marry +somebody, sometime.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“I confess I +don’t see the necessity.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (morosely).—“You’re the +sort of woman men won’t leave in undisturbed spinsterhood; +they’ll keep on badgering you.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Oh, I +don’t mind the badgering of a number of men; it’s +rather nice. It’s the one badger I find +obnoxious.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (impatiently).—“That’s just +the perversity of things. I could put a stop to the +protestations of the many; I should like nothing better—but +the pertinacity of the one! Ah, well! I can’t +drop that without putting an end to my existence.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (politely).—“I +shouldn’t think of suggesting anything so +extreme.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (quoting).—“‘Mrs. Hauksbee +proceeded to take the conceit out of Pluffles as you remove the +ribs of an umbrella before re-covering.’ However, you +couldn’t ask me anything seriously that I wouldn’t +do, dear Mistress Perversity.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (yielding a +point).—“I’ll put that boldly to the +proof. Say you don’t love me!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (seizing his advantage).—“I +don’t! It’s imbecile and besotted +devotion! Tell me, when may I come to take you +away?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> +(sighing).—“It’s like asking me to leave +Heaven.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p115b.jpg"> +<img alt="Phœbe and Gladwish" src="images/p115s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I know it; she told me where to +find you,—Thornycroft is the seventh poultry-farm +I’ve visited,—but you could never leave Heaven, you +can’t be happy without poultry, why that is a wish easily +gratified. I’ll get you a farm to-morrow; no, +it’s Saturday, and the real estate offices close at noon, +but on Monday, without fail. Your ducks and geese, always +carrying it along with you. All you would have to do is to +admit me; Heaven is full of twos. If you shall swim on a +crystal lake—Phœbe told me what a genius you have for +getting them out of the muddy pond; she was sitting beside it +when I called, her hand in that of a straw-coloured person named +Gladwish, and the ground in her vicinity completely strewn with +votive offerings. You shall splash your silver sea with an +ivory wand; your hens shall have suburban cottages, each with its +garden; their perches shall be of satin-wood and their water +dishes of mother-of-pearl. You shall be the Goose Girl and +I will be the Swan Herd—simply to be near you—for I +hate live poultry. Dost like the picture? It’s +a little like Claude Melnotte’s, I confess. The fact +is I am not quite sane; talking with you after a fortnight of the +tabbies at the Hydro is like quaffing inebriating vodka after +Miffin’s Food! May I come to-morrow?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiffs Daughter</i> (hedging).—“I shall be +rather busy; the Crossed Minorca hen comes off +to-morrow.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Oh, never mind! +I’ll take her off to-night when I escort you to the farm; +then she’ll get a day’s advantage.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“And rob fourteen +prospective chicks of a mother; nay, lose the chicks +themselves? Never!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“So long as you are a Goose +Girl, does it make any difference whose you are? Is it any +more agreeable to be Mrs. Heaven’s Goose Girl than +mine?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Ah! but in one +case the term of service is limited; in the other, +permanent.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“But in the one case you are the +slave of the employer, in the other the employer of the +slave. Why did you run away?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“A man’s +mind is too dull an instrument to measure a woman’s reason; +even my own fails sometimes to deal with all its delicate shades; +but I think I must have run away chiefly to taste the pleasure of +being pursued and brought back. If it is necessary to your +happiness that you should explore all the Bluebeard chambers of +my being, I will confess further that it has taken you nearly +three weeks to accomplish what I supposed you would do in three +days!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (after a well-spent +interval).—“To-morrow, then; shall we say before +breakfast? All, do! Why not? Well, then, +immediately after breakfast, and I breakfast at seven nowadays, +and sometimes earlier. Do take off those ugly cotton +gloves, dear; they are five sizes too large for you, and so rough +and baggy to the touch!”</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1867-h.htm or 1867-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/6/1867 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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mode 100644 index 0000000..bff708b --- /dev/null +++ b/1867-h/images/p99s.jpg diff --git a/1867.txt b/1867.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..186e9a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/1867.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2476 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Diary of a Goose Girl, by Kate Douglas +Smith Wiggin, Illustrated by Claude A. Shepperson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Diary of a Goose Girl + + +Author: Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin + + + +Release Date: May 15, 2007 [eBook #1867] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL*** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1902 Gay and Bird edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + +{Book cover: cover.jpg} + + + + + +THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL + + +BY +KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY +CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON + +GAY AND BIRD +22 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND +LONDON +1902 + +{I looked about me with what Stevenson calls a 'fine dizzy, muddle-headed +job': p01.jpg} + +TO THE HENS, DUCKS, AND GEESE +WHO SO KINDLY GAVE ME +SITTINGS FOR THESE +SKETCHES THE BOOK +IS GRATEFULLY +INSCRIBED + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +{Thornycroft House: p1a.jpg} + +THORNYCROFT FARM, near Barbury Green, July 1, 190-. + +{Picture of woman and goose: p1b.jpg} + +In alluding to myself as a Goose Girl, I am using only the most modest of +my titles; for I am also a poultry-maid, a tender of Belgian hares and +rabbits, and a shepherdess; but I particularly fancy the role of Goose +Girl, because it recalls the German fairy tales of my early youth, when I +always yearned, but never hoped, to be precisely what I now am. + +As I was jolting along these charming Sussex roads the other day, a fat +buff pony and a tippy cart being my manner of progression, I chanced upon +the village of Barbury Green. + +One glance was enough for any woman, who, having eyes to see, could see +with them; but I made assurance doubly sure by driving about a little, +struggling to conceal my new-born passion from the stable-boy who was my +escort. Then, it being high noon of a cloudless day, I descended from +the trap and said to the astonished yokel: "You may go back to the +Hydropathic; I am spending a month or two here. Wait a moment--I'll send +a message, please!" + +I then scribbled a word or two to those having me in custody. + +"I am very tired of people," the note ran, "and want to rest myself by +living a while with things. Address me (if you must) at Barbury Green +post-office, or at all events send me a box of simple clothing +there--nothing but shirts and skirts, please. I cannot forget that I am +only twenty miles from Oxenbridge (though it might be one hundred and +twenty, which is the reason I adore it), but I rely upon you to keep an +honourable distance yourselves, and not to divulge my place of retreat to +others, especially to--you know whom! Do not pursue me. I will never be +taken alive!" + +Having cut, thus, the cable that bound me to civilisation, and having +seen the buff pony and the dazed yokel disappear in a cloud of dust, I +looked about me with what Stevenson calls a "fine, dizzy, muddle-headed +joy," the joy of a successful rebel or a liberated serf. Plenty of money +in my purse--that was unromantic, of course, but it simplified +matters--and nine hours of daylight remaining in which to find a lodging. + +{Life converges there, just at the public duck-pond: p3.jpg} + +The village is one of the oldest, and I am sure it must be one of the +quaintest, in England. It is too small to be printed on the map (an +honour that has spoiled more than one Arcadia), so pray do not look +there, but just believe in it, and some day you may be rewarded by +driving into it by chance, as I did, and feel the same Columbus thrill +running, like an electric current, through your veins. I withhold +specific geographical information in order that you may not miss that +Columbus thrill, which comes too seldom in a world of railroads. + +The Green is in the very centre of Barbury village, and all civic, +political, family, and social life converges there, just at the public +duck-pond--a wee, sleepy lake with a slope of grass-covered stones by +which the ducks descend for their swim. + +The houses are set about the Green like those in a toy village. They are +of old brick, with crumpled, up-and-down roofs of deep-toned red, and +tufts of stonecrop growing from the eaves. Diamond-paned windows, half +open, admit the sweet summer air; and as for the gardens in front, it +would seem as if the inhabitants had nothing to do but work in them, +there is such a riotous profusion of colour and bloom. To add to the +effect, there are always pots of flowers hanging from the trees, blue +flax and yellow myrtle; and cages of Java sparrows and canaries singing +joyously, as well they may in such a paradise. + +{The houses are set about the Green: p5.jpg} + +The shops are idyllic, too, as if Nature had seized even the man of trade +and made him subservient to her designs. The general draper's, where I +fitted myself out for a day or two quite easily, is set back in a tangle +of poppies and sweet peas, Madonna lilies and Canterbury bells. The shop +itself has a gay awning, and what do you think the draper has suspended +from it, just as a picturesque suggestion to the passer-by? Suggestion I +call it, because I should blush to use the word advertisement in +describing anything so dainty and decorative. Well, then, garlands of +shoes, if you please! Baby bootlets of bronze; tiny ankle-ties in +yellow, blue, and scarlet kid; glossy patent-leather pumps shining in the +sun, with festoons of slippers at the corners, flowery slippers in +imitation Berlin wool-work. If you make this picture in your mind's-eye, +just add a window above the awning, and over the fringe of marigolds in +the window-box put the draper's wife dancing a rosy-cheeked baby. Alas! +my words are only black and white, I fear, and this picture needs a +palette drenched in primary colours. + +Along the street, a short distance, is the old watchmaker's. Set in the +hedge at the gate is a glass case with _Multum in Parvo_ painted on the +woodwork. Within, a little stand of trinkets revolves slowly; as slowly, +I imagine, as the current of business in that quiet street. The house +stands a trifle back and is covered thickly with ivy, while over the +entrance-door of the shop is a great round clock set in a green frame of +clustering vine. The hands pointed to one when I passed the watchmaker's +garden with its thicket of fragrant lavender and its murmuring bees; so I +went in to the sign of the "Strong i' the Arm" for some cold luncheon, +determining to patronise "The Running Footman" at the very next +opportunity. Neither of these inns is starred by Baedeker, and this fact +adds the last touch of enchantment to the picture. + +The landlady at the "Strong i' the Arm" stabbed me in the heart by +telling me that there were no apartments to let in the village, and that +she had no private sitting-room in the inn; but she speedily healed the +wound by saying that I might be accommodated at one of the farm-houses in +the vicinity. Did I object to a farm-'ouse? Then she could cheerfully +recommend the Evan's farm, only 'alf a mile away. She 'ad understood +from Miss Phoebe Evan, who sold her poultry, that they would take one +lady lodger if she didn't wish much waiting upon. + +In my present mood I was in search of the strenuous life, and eager to +wait, rather than to be waited upon; so I walked along the edge of the +Green, wishing that some mentally unbalanced householder would take a +sudden fancy to me and ask me to come in and lodge awhile. I suppose +these families live under their roofs of peach-blow tiles, in the midst +of their blooming gardens, for a guinea a week or thereabouts; yet if +they "undertook" me (to use their own phrase), the bill for my humble +meals and bed would be at least double that. I don't know that I blame +them; one should have proper compensation for admitting a world-stained +lodger into such an Eden. + +When I was searching for rooms a week ago, I chanced upon a pretty +cottage where the woman had sometimes let apartments. She showed me the +premises and asked me if I would mind taking my meals in her own dining- +room, where I could be served privately at certain hours: and, since she +had but the one sitting-room, would I allow her to go on using it +occasionally? also, if I had no special preference, would I take the +second-sized bedroom and leave her in possession of the largest one, +which permitted her to have the baby's crib by her bedside? She thought +I should be quite as comfortable, and it was her opinion that in making +arrangements with lodgers, it was a good plan not to "bryke up the 'ome +any more than was necessary." + +"Bryke up the 'ome!" That is seemingly the malignant purpose with which +I entered Barbury Green. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +July 4th. + +Enter the family of Thornycroft Farm, of which I am already a member in +good and regular standing. + +I introduce Mrs. Heaven first, for she is a self-saturated person who +would never forgive the insult should she receive any lower place. + +She welcomed me with the statement: "We do not take lodgers here, nor +boarders; no lodgers, nor boarders, but we do occasionally admit paying +guests, those who look as if they would appreciate the quietude of the +plyce and be willing as you might say to remunerate according." + +{Mrs. Heaven: p10.jpg} + +I did not mind at this particular juncture what I was called, so long as +the epithet was comparatively unobjectionable, so I am a paying guest, +therefore, and I expect to pay handsomely for the handsome appellation. +Mrs. Heaven is short and fat; she fills her dress as a pin-cushion fills +its cover; she wears a cap and apron, and she is so full of platitudes +that she would have burst had I not appeared as a providential outlet for +them. Her accent is not of the farm, but of the town, and smacks wholly +of the marts of trade. She is repetitious, too, as well as +platitudinous. "I 'ope if there's anythink you require you will let us +know, let us know," she says several times each day; and whenever she +enters my sitting-room she prefaces her conversation with the remark: "I +trust you are finding it quiet here, miss? It's the quietude of the +plyce that is its charm, yes, the quietude. And yet" (she dribbles on) +"it wears on a body after a while, miss. I often go into Woodmucket to +visit one of my sons just for the noise, simply for the noise, miss, for +nothink else in the world but the noise. There's nothink like noise for +soothing nerves that is worn threadbare with the quietude, miss, or at +least that's my experience; and yet to a strynger the quietude of the +plyce is its charm, undoubtedly its chief charm; and that is what our +paying guests always say, although our charges are somewhat higher than +other plyces. If there's anythink you require, miss, I 'ope you'll +mention it. There is not a commodious assortment in Barbury Green, but +we can always send the pony to Woodmucket in case of urgency. Our paying +guest last summer was a Mrs. Pollock, and she was by way of having sudden +fancies. Young and unmarried though you are, miss, I think you will tyke +my meaning without my speaking plyner? Well, at six o'clock of a rainy +afternoon, she was seized with an unaccountable desire for vegetable +marrows, and Mr. 'Eaven put the pony in the cart and went to Woodmucket +for them, which is a great advantage to be so near a town and yet 'ave +the quietude." + +{Mr. Heaven: p11.jpg} + +Mr. Heaven is merged, like Mr. Jellyby, in the more shining qualities of +his wife. A line of description is too long for him. Indeed, I can +think of no single word brief enough, at least in English. The Latin +"nil" will do, since no language is rich in words of less than three +letters. He is nice, kind, bald, timid, thin, and so colourless that he +can scarcely be discerned save in a strong light. When Mrs. Heaven goes +out into the orchard in search of him, I can hardly help calling from my +window, "Bear a trifle to the right, Mrs. Heaven--now to the left--just +in front of you now--if you put out your hands you will touch him." + +Phoebe, aged seventeen, is the daughter of the house. She is virtuous, +industrious, conscientious, and singularly destitute of physical charm. +She is more than plain; she looks as if she had been planned without any +definite purpose in view, made of the wrong materials, been badly put +together, and never properly finished off; but "plain" after all is a +relative word. Many a plain girl has been married for her beauty; and +now and then a beauty, falling under a cold eye, has been thought plain. + +Phoebe has her compensations, for she is beloved by, and reciprocates the +passion of, the Woodmancote carrier, Woodmucket being the English manner +of pronouncing the place of his abode. If he "carries" as energetically +for the great public as he fetches for Phoebe, then he must be a rising +and a prosperous man. He brings her daily, wild strawberries, cherries, +birds' nests, peacock feathers, sea-shells, green hazel-nuts, samples of +hens' food, or bouquets of wilted field flowers tied together tightly and +held with a large, moist, loving hand. He has fine curly hair of sandy +hue, which forms an aureole on his brow, and a reddish beard, which makes +another inverted aureole to match, round his chin. One cannot look at +him, especially when the sun shines through him, without thinking how +lovely he would be if stuffed and set on wheels, with a little string to +drag him about. + +{The Woodmancote carrier: p13.jpg} + +Phoebe confided to me that she was on the eve of loving the postman when +the carrier came across her horizon. + +"It doesn't do to be too hysty, does it, miss?" she asked me as we were +weeding the onion bed. "I was to give the postman his answer on the +Monday night, and it was on the Monday morning that Mr. Gladwish made his +first trip here as carrier. I may say I never wyvered from that moment, +and no more did he. When I think how near I came to promising the +postman it gives me a turn." (I can understand that, for I once met the +man I nearly promised years before to marry, and we both experienced such +a sense of relief at being free instead of bound that we came near +falling in love for sheer joy.) + +{Picture of toy on wheels: p14.jpg} + +The last and most important member of the household is the Square Baby. +His name is Albert Edward, and he is really five years old and no baby at +all; but his appearance on this planet was in the nature of a complete +surprise to all parties concerned, and he is spoiled accordingly. He has +a square head and jaw, square shoulders, square hands and feet. He is +red and white and solid and stolid and slow-witted, as the young of his +class commonly are, and will make a bulwark of the nation in course of +time, I should think; for England has to produce a few thousand such +square babies every year for use in the colonies and in the standing +army. Albert Edward has already a military gait, and when he has +acquired a habit of obedience at all comparable with his power of +command, he will be able to take up the white man's burden with +distinguished success. Meantime I can never look at him without +marvelling how the English climate can transmute bacon and eggs, tea and +the solid household loaf into such radiant roses and lilies as bloom upon +his cheeks and lips. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +July 8th. + +Thornycroft is by way of being a small poultry farm. + +In reaching it from Barbury Green, you take the first left-hand road, go +till you drop, and there you are. + +It reminds me of my "grandmother's farm at Older." Did you know the song +when you were a child?-- + + My grandmother had a very fine farm + 'Way down in the fields of Older. + With a cluck-cluck here, + And a cluck-cluck there, + Here and there a cluck-cluck, + Cluck-cluck here and there, + Down in the fields at Older. + +It goes on for ever by the simple subterfuge of changing a few words in +each verse. + + My grandmother had a very fine farm + 'Way down in the fields of Older. + With a quack-quack here, + And a quack-quack there, + Here and there a quack-quack, + Quack-quack here and there, + Down in the fields at Older. + +This is followed by the gobble-gobble, moo-moo, baa-baa, etc., as long as +the laureate's imagination and the infant's breath hold good. The tune +is pretty, and I do not know, or did not, when I was young, a more +fascinating lyric. + +{The sitting hens: p17.jpg} + +Thornycroft House must have belonged to a country gentleman once upon a +time, or to more than one; men who built on a bit here and there once in +a hundred years, until finally we have this charmingly irregular and +dilapidated whole. You go up three steps into Mrs. Heaven's room, down +two into mine, while Phoebe's is up in a sort of turret with long, narrow +lattices opening into the creepers. There are crooked little +stair-cases, passages that branch off into other passages and lead +nowhere in particular; I can't think of a better house in which to play +hide and seek on a wet day. In front, what was once, doubtless, a green, +is cut up into greens; to wit, a vegetable garden, where the onions, +turnips, and potatoes grow cosily up to the very door-sill; the +utilitarian aspect of it all being varied by some scarlet-runners and a +scattering of poppies on either side of the path. + +The Belgian hares have their habitation in a corner fifty feet distant; +one large enclosure for poultry lies just outside the sweetbrier hedge; +the others, with all the houses and coops, are in the meadow at the back, +where also our tumbler pigeons are kept. + +Phoebe attends to the poultry; it is her department. Mr. Heaven has +neither the force nor the _finesse_ required, and the gentle reader who +thinks these qualities unneeded in so humble a calling has only to spend +a few days at Thornycroft to be convinced. Mrs. Heaven would be of use, +but she is dressing the Square Baby in the morning and putting him to bed +at night just at the hours when the feathered young things are undergoing +the same operation. + +A Goose Girl, like a poet, is sometimes born, sometimes otherwise. I am +of the born variety. No training was necessary; I put my head on my +pillow as a complicated product of modern civilisation on a Tuesday +night, and on a Wednesday morning I awoke as a Goose Girl. + +{Hens . . . go to bed at a virtuous hour: p19.jpg} + +My destiny slumbered during the day, but at eight o'clock I heard a +terrific squawking in the direction of the duck-ponds, and, aimlessly +drifting in that direction, I came upon Phoebe trying to induce ducks and +drakes, geese and ganders, to retire for the night. They have to be +driven into enclosures behind fences of wire netting, fastened into +little rat-proof boxes, or shut into separate coops, so as to be safe +from their natural enemies, the rats and foxes; which, obeying, I +suppose, the law of supply and demand, abound in this neighbourhood. The +old ganders are allowed their liberty, being of such age, discretion, +sagacity, and pugnacity that they can be trusted to fight their own +battles. + +{Ducks and geese . . . would roam the streets till morning: p20.jpg} + +The intelligence of hens, though modest, is of such an order that it +prompts them to go to bed at a virtuous hour of their own accord; but +ducks and geese have to be materially assisted, or I believe they would +roam till morning. Never did small boy detest and resist being carried +off to his nursery as these dullards, young and old, detest and resist +being driven to theirs. Whether they suffer from insomnia, or nightmare, +or whether they simply prefer the sweet air of liberty (and death) to the +odour of captivity and the coop, I have no means of knowing. + +{The pole was not long enough: p21.jpg} + +Phoebe stood by one of the duck-ponds, a long pole in her hand, and a +helpless expression in that doughlike countenance of hers, where aimless +contours and features unite to make a kind of facial blur. (What does +the carrier see in it?) The pole was not long enough to reach the ducks, +and Phoebe's method lacked spirit and adroitness, so that it was natural, +perhaps, that they refused to leave the water, the evening being warm, +with an uncommon fine sunset. + +{They . . . waddle under the wrong fence: p22.jpg} + +I saw the situation at once and ran to meet it with a glow of interest +and anticipation. If there is anything in the world I enjoy, it is +making somebody do something that he doesn't want to do; and if, when +victory perches upon my banner, the somebody can be brought to say that +he ought to have done it without my making him, that adds the +unforgettable touch to pleasure, though seldom, alas! does it happen. +Then ensued the delightful and stimulating hour that has now become a +feature of the day; an hour in which the remembrance of the table-d'hote +dinner at the Hydro, going on at identically the same time, only stirs me +to a keener joy and gratitude. + +{Honking and hissing like a bewildered orchestra: p23.jpg} + +{Harried and pecked by the big geese: p24.jpg} + +The ducks swim round in circles, hide under the willows, and attempt to +creep into the rat-holes in the banks, a stupidity so crass that it +merits instant death, which it somehow always escapes. Then they come +out in couples and waddle under the wrong fence into the lower meadow, +fly madly under the tool-house, pitch blindly in with the sitting hens, +and out again in short order, all the time quacking and squawking, +honking and hissing like a bewildered orchestra. By dint of splashing +the water with poles, throwing pebbles, beating the shrubs at the pond's +edges, "shooing" frantically with our skirts, crawling beneath bars to +head them off, and prodding them from under bushes to urge them on, we +finally get the older ones out of the water and the younger ones into +some sort of relation to their various retreats; but, owing to their lack +of geography, hatred of home, and general recalcitrancy, they none of +them turn up in the right place and have to be sorted out. We uncover +the top of the little house, or the enclosure as it may be, or reach in +at the door, and, seizing the struggling victim, drag him forth and take +him where he should have had the wit to go in the first instance. The +weak ones get in with the strong and are in danger of being trampled; two +May goslings that look almost full-grown have run into a house with a +brood of ducklings a week old. There are twenty-seven crowded into one +coop, five in another, nineteen in another; the gosling with one leg has +to come out, and the duckling threatened with the gapes; their place is +with the "invaleeds," as Phoebe calls them, but they never learn the +location of the hospital, nor have the slightest scruple about spreading +contagious diseases. + +{In solitary splendour: p25.jpg} + +Finally, when we have separated and sorted exhaustively, an operation in +which Phoebe shows a delicacy of discrimination and a fearlessness of +attack amounting to genius, we count the entire number and find several +missing. Searching for their animate or inanimate bodies, we "scoop" one +from under the tool-house, chance upon two more who are being harried and +pecked by the big geese in the lower meadow, and discover one sailing by +himself in solitary splendour in the middle of the deserted pond, a look +of evil triumph in his bead-like eye. Still we lack one young duckling, +and he at length is found dead by the hedge. A rat has evidently seized +him and choked him at a single throttle, but in such haste that he has +not had time to carry away the tiny body. + +"Poor think!" says Phoebe tearfully; "it looks as if it was 'it with some +kind of a wepping. I don't know whatever to do with the rats, they're +gettin' that fearocious!" + +Before I was admitted into daily contact with the living goose (my +previous intercourse with him having been carried on when gravy and +stuffing obscured his true personality), I thought him a very Dreyfus +among fowls, a sorely slandered bird, to whom justice had never been +done; for even the gentle Darwin is hard upon him. My opinion is +undergoing some slight modifications, but I withhold judgment at present, +hoping that some of the follies, faults, vagaries, and limitations that I +observe in Phoebe's geese may be due to Phoebe's educational methods, +which were, before my advent, those of the darkest ages. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +{Dryshod warnings which are never heeded: p27.jpg} + +July 9th. + +By the time the ducks and geese are incarcerated for the night, the +reasonable, sensible, practical-minded hens--especially those whose +mentality is increased and whose virtue is heightened by the +responsibilities of motherhood--have gone into their own particular rat- +proof boxes, where they are waiting in a semi-somnolent state to have the +wire doors closed, the bricks set against them, and the bits of sacking +flung over the tops to keep out the draught. We have a great many young +families, both ducklings and chicks, but we have no duck mothers at +present. The variety of bird which Phoebe seems to have bred during the +past year may be called the New Duck, with certain radical ideas about +woman's sphere. What will happen to Thornycroft if we develop a New Hen +and a New Cow, my imagination fails to conceive. There does not seem to +be the slightest danger for the moment, however, and our hens lay and sit +and sit and lay as if laying and sitting were the twin purposes of life. + +{The mother goes off to bed: p28.jpg} + +The nature of the hen seems to broaden with the duties of maternity, but +I think myself that we presume a little upon her amiability and natural +motherliness. It is one thing to desire a family of one's own, to lay +eggs with that idea in view, to sit upon them three long weeks and hatch +out and bring up a nice brood of chicks. It must be quite another to +have one's eggs abstracted day by day and eaten by a callous public, the +nest filled with deceitful substitutes, and at the end of a dull and +weary period of hatching to bring into the world another person's +children--children, too, of the wrong size, the wrong kind of bills and +feet, and, still more subtle grievance, the wrong kind of instincts, +leading them to a dangerous aquatic career, one which the mother may not +enter to guide, guard, and teach; one on the brink of which she must ever +stand, uttering dryshod warnings which are never heeded. They grow used +to this strange order of things after a bit, it is true, and are less +anxious and excited. When the duck-brood returns safely again and again +from what the hen-mother thinks will prove a watery grave, she becomes +accustomed to the situation, I suppose. I find that at night she stands +by the pond for what she considers a decent, self-respecting length of +time, calling the ducklings out of the water; then, if they refuse to +come, the mother goes off to bed and leaves them to Providence, or Phoebe. + +{Cornelia and the web-footed Gracchi: p29.jpg} + +The brown hen that we have named Cornelia is the best mother, the one who +waits longest and most patiently for the web-footed Gracchi to finish +their swim. + +When a chick is taken out of the incubytor (as Phoebe calls it) and +refused by all the other hens, Cornelia generally accepts it, though she +had twelve of her own when we began using her as an orphan asylum. "Wings +are made to stretch," she seems to say cheerfully, and with a kind glance +of her round eye she welcomes the wanderer and the outcast. She even +tended for a time the offspring of an absent-minded, light-headed +pheasant who flew over a four-foot wall and left her young behind her to +starve; it was not a New Pheasant, either; for the most conservative and +old-fashioned of her tribe occasionally commits domestic solecisms of +this sort. + +{An orphan asylum: p30.jpg} + +There is no telling when, where, or how the maternal instinct will assert +itself. Among our Thornycroft cats is a certain Mrs. Greyskin. She had +not been seen for many days, and Mrs. Heaven concluded that she had +hidden herself somewhere with a family of kittens; but as the supply of +that article with us more than equals the demand, we had not searched for +her with especial zeal. + +{Phoebe and I followed her stealthily: p31.jpg} + +The other day Mrs. Greyskin appeared at the dairy door, and when she had +been fed Phoebe and I followed her stealthily, from a distance. She +walked slowly about as if her mind were quite free from harassing care, +and finally approached a deserted cow-house where there was a great mound +of straw. At this moment she caught sight of us and turned in another +direction to throw us off the scent. We persevered in our intention of +going into her probable retreat, and were cautiously looking for some +sign of life in the haymow, when we heard a soft cackle and a ruffling of +plumage. Coming closer to the sound we saw a black hen brooding a nest, +her bright bead eyes turning nervously from side to side; and, coaxed out +from her protecting wings by youthful curiosity, came four kittens, eyes +wide open, warm, happy, ready for sport! + +The sight was irresistible, and Phoebe ran for Mr. and Mrs. Heaven and +the Square Baby. Mother Hen was not to be embarrassed or daunted, even +if her most sacred feelings were regarded in the light of a cheap +entertainment. She held her ground while one of the kits slid up and +down her glossy back, and two others, more timid, crept underneath her +breast, only daring to put out their pink noses! We retired then for +very shame and met Mrs. Greyskin in the doorway. This should have +thickened the plot, but there is apparently no rivalry nor animosity +between the co-mothers. We watch them every day now, through a window in +the roof. Mother Greyskin visits the kittens frequently, lies down +beside the home nest, and gives them their dinner. While this is going +on Mother Blackwing goes modestly away for a bite, a sup, and a little +exercise, returning to the kittens when the cat leaves them. It is +pretty to see her settle down over the four, fat, furry dumplings, and +they seem to know no difference in warmth or comfort, whichever mother is +brooding them; while, as their eyes have been open for a week, it can no +longer be called a blind error on their part. + +{Coaxed out . . . by youthful curiosity: p33.jpg} + +When we have closed all our small hen-nurseries for the night, there is +still the large house inhabited by the thirty-two full-grown chickens +which Phoebe calls the broilers. I cannot endure the term, and will not +use it. "Now for the April chicks," I say every evening. + +"Do you mean the broilers?" asks Phoebe. + +"I mean the big April chicks," say I. + +"Yes, them are the broilers," says she. + +But is it not disagreeable enough to be a broiler when one's time comes, +without having the gridiron waved in one's face for weeks beforehand? + +{Nine huddle together: p34.jpg} + +The April chicks are all lively and desirous of seeing the world as +thoroughly as possible before going to roost or broil. As a general +thing, we find in the large house sixteen young fowls of the +contemplative, flavourless, resigned-to-the-inevitable variety; three +more (the same three every night) perch on the roof and are driven down; +four (always the same four) cling to the edge of the open door, waiting +to fly off, but not in, when you attempt to close it; nine huddle +together on a place in the grass about forty feet distant, where a small +coop formerly stood in the prehistoric ages. This small coop was one in +which they lodged for a fortnight when they were younger, and when those +absolutely indelible impressions are formed of which we read in +educational maxims. It was taken away long since, but the nine loyal (or +stupid) Casabiancas cling to the sacred spot where its foundations +rested; they accordingly have to be caught and deposited bodily in the +house, and this requires strategy, as they note our approach from a +considerable distance. + +{Of a wandering mind: p35.jpg} + +Finally all are housed but two, the little white cock and the black +pullet, who are still impish and of a wandering mind. Though headed off +in every direction, they fly into the hedges and hide in the underbrush. +We beat the hedge on the other side, but with no avail. We dive into the +thicket of wild roses, sweetbrier, and thistles on our hands and knees, +coming out with tangled hair, scratched noses, and no hens. Then, when +all has been done that human ingenuity can suggest, Phoebe goes to her +late supper and I do sentry-work. I stroll to a safe distance, and, +sitting on one of the rat-proof boxes, watch the bushes with an eagle +eye. Five minutes go by, ten, fifteen; and then out steps the white +cock, stealthily tiptoeing toward the home into which he refused to go at +our instigation. In a moment out creeps the obstinate little beast of a +black pullet from the opposite clump. The wayward pair meet at their own +door, which I have left open a few inches. When all is still I walk +gently down the field, and, warned by previous experiences, approach the +house from behind. I draw the door to softly and quickly; but not so +quickly that the evil-minded and suspicious black pullet hasn't time to +spring out, with a make-believe squawk of fright--that induces three +other blameless chickens to fly down from their perches and set the whole +flock in a flutter. Then I fall from grace and call her a Broiler; and +when, after some minutes of hot pursuit, I catch her by falling over her +in the corner by the goose-pen, I address her as a fat, juicy Broiler +with parsley butter and a bit of bacon. + +{With tangled hair, scratched noses, and no hens: p36.jpg} + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +July 10th. + +At ten thirty or so in the morning the cackling begins. I wonder exactly +what it means! Have the forest-lovers who listen so respectfully to, and +interpret so exquisitely, the notes of birds--have none of them made +psychological investigations of the hen cackle? Can it be simple +elation? One could believe that of the first few eggs, but a hen who has +laid two or three hundred can hardly feel the same exuberant pride and +joy daily. Can it be the excitement incident to successful achievement? +Hardly, because the task is so extremely simple. Eggs are more or less +alike; a little larger or smaller, a trifle whiter or browner; and almost +sure to be quite right as to details; that is, the big end never gets +confused with the little end, they are always ovoid and never spherical, +and the yolk is always inside of the white. As for a soft-shelled egg, +it is so rare an occurrence that the fear of laying one could not set the +whole race of hens in a panic; so there really cannot be any intellectual +or emotional agitation in producing a thing that might be made by a +machine. Can it be simply "fussiness"; since the people who have the +least to do commonly make the most flutter about doing it? + +Perhaps it is merely conversation. "_Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut_-DAH_cut_! . . . +I have finished my strictly fresh egg, have you laid yours? Make +haste, then, for the cock has found a gap in the wire-fence and wants us +to wander in the strawberry-bed. . . . Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut-DAH_cut_ . . . +Every moment is precious, for the Goose Girl will find us, when she +gathers the strawberries for her luncheon . . . Cut-cut-cut-cut! On the +way out we can find sweet places to steal nests . . . Cut-cut-cut! . . . +I am so glad I am not sitting this heavenly morning; it _is_ a dull +life." + +A Lancashire poultryman drifted into Barbury Green yesterday. He is an +old acquaintance of Mr. Heaven, and spent the night and part of the next +day at Thornycroft Farm. He possessed a deal of fowl philosophy, and +tells many a good hen story, which, like fish stories, draw rather +largely on the credulity of the audience. We were sitting in the +rickyard talking comfortably about laying and cackling and kindred +matters when he took his pipe from his mouth and told us the following +tale--not a bad one if you can translate the dialect:-- + +'Aw were once towd as, if yo' could only get th' hen's egg away afooar +she hed sin it, th' hen 'ud think it hed med a mistek an' sit deawn +ageean an' lay another. + +"An' it seemed to me it were a varra sensible way o' lukkin' at it. Sooa +aw set to wark to mek a nest as 'ud tek a rise eawt o' th' hens. An' aw +dud it too. Aw med a nest wi' a fause bottom, th' idea bein' as when a +hen hed laid, th' egg 'ud drop through into a box underneyth. + +"Aw felt varra preawd o' that nest, too, aw con tell yo', an' aw remember +aw felt quite excited when aw see an awd black Minorca, th' best layer as +aw hed, gooa an' settle hersel deawn i' th' nest an' get ready for wark. +Th' hen seemed quite comfortable enough, aw were glad to see, an' geet +through th' operation beawt ony seemin' trouble. + +"Well, aw darsay yo' know heaw a hen carries on as soon as it's laid a +egg. It starts "chuckin'" away like a showman's racket, an' after +tekkin' a good Ink at th' egg to see whether it's a big 'un or a little +'un, gooas eawt an' tells all t'other hens abeawt it. + +"Neaw, this black Minorca, as aw sed, were a owdish bird, an' maybe knew +mooar than aw thowt. Happen it hed laid on a nest wi' a fause bottom +afooar, an' were up to th' trick, but whether or not, aw never see a hen +luk mooar disgusted i' mi life when it lukked i' th' nest an' see as it +hed hed all that trouble fer nowt. + +"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. + +{More pride of bearing, and less to be proud of: p43.jpg} + +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 hen--not 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. + +{Mr. Heaven discomfited: p46.jpg} + + + + +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 families--it would not be profitable; and the older mother, +having been tried and found faithful over seven, has been given the other +nine and accepted them. What of the bereft one? She is miserable and +stands about moping and forlorn, but it is no use fighting against the +inevitable; hens' hearts must obey the same laws that govern the rotation +of crops. Catherine of Aragon feels her lot a bitter one just now, but +in time she will succumb, and lay, which is more to the point. + +We have had a very busy evening, beginning with the rats' supper--delicate +sandwiches of bread-and-butter spread with Paris green. + +We have a new brood of seventeen ducklings just hatched this afternoon. +When we came to the nest the yellow and brown bunches of down and fluff +were peeping out from under the hen's wings in the prettiest fashion in +the world. + +"It's a noble hen!" I said to Phoebe. + +"She ain't so nowble as she looks," Phoebe answered grimly. "It was +another 'en that brooded these eggs for near on three weeks and then this +big one come along with a fancy she'd like a family 'erself if she could +steal one without too much trouble; so she drove the rightful 'en off the +nest, finished up the last few days, and 'ere she is in possession of the +ducklings!" + +"Why don't you take them away from her and give them back to the first +hen, who did most of the work?" I asked, with some spirit. + +"Like as not she wouldn't tyke them now," said Phoebe, as she lifted the +hen off the broken egg-shells and moved her gently into a clean box, on a +bed of fresh hay. We put food and drink within reach of the family, and +very proud and handsome that highway robber of a hen looked, as she +stretched her wings over the seventeen easily-earned ducklings. + +Going back to the old nesting-box, I found one egg forgotten among the +shells. It was still warm, and I took it up to run across the field with +it to Phoebe. It was heavy, and the carrying of it was a queer +sensation, inasmuch as it squirmed and "yipped" vociferously in transit, +threatening so unmistakably to hatch in my hand that I was decidedly +nervous. The intrepid little youngster burst his shell as he touched +Phoebe's apron, and has become the strongest and handsomest of the brood. + +All this tending of downy young things, this feeding and putting to bed, +this petting and nursing and rearing, is such pretty, comforting woman's +work. I am sure Phoebe will make a better wife to the carrier for having +been a poultry-maid, and though good enough for most practical purposes +when I came here, I am an infinitely better woman now. I am afraid I was +not particularly nice the last few days at the Hydro. Such a lot of +dull, prosy, inquisitive, bothering old tabbies! Aunt Margaret +furnishing imaginary symptoms enough to keep a fond husband and two +trained nurses distracted; a man I had never encouraged in my life coming +to stay in the neighbourhood and turning up daily for rejection; another +man taking rooms at the very hotel with the avowed purpose of making my +life a burden; and on the heels of both, a widow of thirty-five in full +chase! Small wonder I thought it more dignified to retire than to +compete, and so I did. + +I need not, however, have cut the threads that bound me to Oxenbridge +with such particularly sharp scissors, nor given them such a vicious +snap; for, so far as I can observe, the little world of which I imagined +myself the sun continues to revolve, and, probably, about some other +centre. I can well imagine who has taken up that delightful but somewhat +exposed and responsible position--it would be just like her! + +{Threatened . . . to hatch in my hand: p51.jpg} + +I am perfectly happy where I am; it is not that; but it seems so strange +that they can be perfectly happy without me, after all that they--after +all that was said on the subject not many days ago. Nothing turns out as +one expects. There have been no hot pursuits, no rewards offered, no +bills posted, no printed placards issued describing the beauty and charms +of a young person who supposed herself the cynosure of every eye. Heigh- +ho! What does it matter, after all? One can always be a Goose Girl! + +* * * * * + +I wonder if the hen mother is quite, quite satisfied with her ducklings! +Do you suppose the fact of hatching and brooding them breaks down all the +sense of difference? Does she not sometimes reflect that if her children +were the ordinary sort, and not these changelings, she would be enjoying +certain pretty little attentions dear to a mother's heart? The chicks +would be pecking the food off her broad beak with their tiny ones, and +jumping on her back to slide down her glossy feathers. They would be far +nicer to cuddle, too, so small and graceful and light; the changelings +are a trifle solid and brawny. And personally, just as a matter of +taste, would she not prefer wee, round, glancing heads, and pointed +beaks, peeping from under her wings, to these teaspoon-shaped things +larger than her own? I wonder! + +We are training fourteen large young chickens to sit on the perches in +their new house, instead of huddling together on the floor as has been +their habit, because we discover rat-holes under the wire flooring +occasionally, and fear that toes may be bitten. At nine o'clock Phoebe +and I lift the chickens one by one, and, as it were, glue them to their +perches, squawking. Three nights have we gone patiently through with +this performance, but they have not learned the lesson. The ducks and +geese are, however, greatly improved by the application of advanced +educational methods, and the _regime_ of perfect order and system +instituted by Me begins to show results. + +{One can always be a Goose Girl: p53.jpg} + +There is no more violent splashing and pebbling, racing, chasing, +separating. The pole, indeed, still has to be produced, but at the first +majestic wave of my hand they scuttle toward the shore. The geese turn +to the right, cross the rickyard, and go to their pen; the May ducks turn +to the left for their coops, the June ducks follow the hens to the top +meadow, and even the idiot gosling has an inspiration now and then and +stumbles on his own habitation. + +{The geese . . . cross the rickyard: p54.jpg} + +Mrs. Heaven has no reverence for the principles of Comenius, Pestalozzi, +or Herbert Spencer as applied to poultry, and when the ducks and geese +came out of the pond badly the other night and went waddling and tumbling +and hissing all over creation, did not approve of my sending them back +into the pond to start afresh. + +"I consider it a great waste of time, of good time, miss," she said; +"and, after all, do you consider that educated poultry will be any better +eating, or that it will lay more than one egg a day, miss?" + +I have given the matter some attention, and I fear Mrs. Heaven is right. +A duck, a goose, or a hen in which I have developed a larger brain, +implanted a sense of duty, or instilled an idea of self-government, is +likely, on the whole, to be leaner, not fatter. There is nothing like +obeying the voice of conscience for taking the flesh off one's bones; +and, speaking of conscience, Phoebe, whose metaphysics are of the farm +farmy, says that hers "felt like a hunlaid hegg for dyes" after she had +jilted the postman. + +As to the eggs, I am sure the birds will go on laying one a day for 'tis +their nature to. Whether the product of the intelligent, conscious, +logical fowl, will be as rich in quality as that of the uneducated and +barbaric bird, I cannot say; but it ought at least to be equal to the +Denmark egg eaten now by all Londoners; and if, perchance, left uneaten, +it is certain to be a very superior wife and mother. + +While we are discussing the subject of educating poultry, I confess that +the case of Cannibal Ann gives me much anxiety. Twice in her short +career has she been under suspicion of eating her own eggs, but Phoebe +has never succeeded in catching her _in flagrante delicto_. That eminent +detective service was reserved for me, and I have been haunted by the +picture ever since. It is an awful sight to witness a hen gulp her own +newly-laid fresh egg, yolk, white, shell, and all; to realise that you +have fed, sheltered, chased, and occasionally run in, a being possessed +of no moral sense, a being likely to set a bad example, inculcate vicious +habits among her innocent sisters, and lower the standard of an entire +poultry-yard. _The Young Poultry Keeper's Friend_ gives us no advice on +this topic, and we do not know whether to treat Cannibal Ann as the +victim of a disease, or as a confirmed criminal; whether to administer +remedies or cut her off in the flower of her youth. + +{Poor little chap, . . . 'e never was a fyvorite: p56.jpg} + +We have had a sad scene to-night. A chick has been ailing all day, and +when we shut up the brood we found him dead in a corner. + +Phoebe put him on the ground while she busied herself about the coop. The +other chicks came out and walked about the dead one again and again, +eyeing him curiously. + +"Poor little chap!" said Phoebe. "'E's never 'ad a mother! 'E was an +incubytor chicken, and wherever I took 'im 'e was picked at. There was +somethink wrong with 'im; 'e never was a fyvorite!" + +I put the fluffy body into a hole in the turf, and strewed a handful of +grass over him. "Sad little epitaph!" I thought. "He never was a +fyvorite!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +July 13th. + +I like to watch the Belgian hares eating their trifolium or pea-pods or +grass; graceful, gentle things they are, crowding about Mr. Heaven, and +standing prettily, not greedily, on their hind legs, to reach for the +clover, their delicate nostrils and whiskers all a-quiver with +excitement. + +As I look out of my window in the dusk I can see one of the mothers +galloping across the enclosure, the soft white lining of her tail acting +as a beacon-light to the eight infant hares following her, a quaint +procession of eight white spots in it glancing line. In the darkest +night those baby creatures could follow their mother through grass or +hedge or thicket, and she would need no warning note to show them where +to flee in case of danger. "All you have to do is to follow the white +night-light that I keep in the lining of my tail," she says, when she is +giving her first maternal lectures; and it seems a beneficent provision +of Nature. To be sure, Mr. Heaven took his gun and went out to shoot +wild rabbits to-day, and I noted that he marked them by those same self- +betraying tails, as they scuttled toward their holes or leaped toward the +protecting cover of the hedge; so it does not appear whether Nature is on +the side of the farmer or the rabbit . . . + +{Mr. Heaven . . . went out to shoot wild rabbits: p59.jpg} + +There is as much comedy and as much tragedy in poultry life as anywhere, +and already I see rifts within lutes. We have in a cage a French +gentleman partridge married to a Hungarian lady of defective sight. He +paces back and forth in the pen restlessly, anything but content with the +domestic fireside. One can see plainly that he is devoted to the +Boulevards, and that if left to his own inclinations he would never have +chosen any spouse but a thorough Parisienne. + +The Hungarian lady is blind of one eye, from some stray shot, I suppose. +She is melancholy at all times, and occasionally goes so far as to beat +her head against the wire netting. If liberated, Mr. Heaven says that +her blindness would only expose her to death at the hands of the first +sportsman, and it always seems to me as if she knows this, and is ever +trying to decide whether a loveless marriage is any better than the tomb. + +Then, again, the great, grey gander is, for some mysterious reason, out +of favour with the entire family. He is a noble and amiable bird, by far +the best all-round character in the flock, for dignity of mien and large- +minded common-sense. What is the treatment vouchsafed to this blameless +husband and father? One that puts anybody out of sorts with virtue and +its scant rewards. To begin with, the others will not allow him to go +into the pond. There is an organised cabal against it, and he sits +solitary on the bank, calm and resigned, but, naturally, a trifle hurt. +His favourite retreat is a tiny sort of island on the edge of the pool +under the alders, where with his bent head, and red-rimmed philosophic +eyes he regards his own breast and dreams of happier days. When the +others walk into the country twenty-three of them keep together, and Burd +Alane (as I have named him from the old ballad) walks by himself. The +lack of harmony is so evident here, and the slight so intentional and +direct, that it almost moves me to tears. The others walk soberly, +always in couples, but even Burd Alane's rightful spouse is on the side +of the majority, and avoids her consort. + +{Out of favour with the entire family: p61.jpg} + +What is the nature of his offence? There can be no connubial jealousies, +I judge, as geese are strictly monogamous, and having chosen a partner of +their joys and sorrows they cleave to each other until death or some +other inexorable circumstance does them part. If they are ever mistaken +in their choice, and think they might have done better, the world is none +the wiser. Burd Alane looks in good condition, but Phoebe thinks he is +not quite himself, and that some day when he is in greater strength he +will turn on his foes and rend them, regaining thus his lost prestige, +for formerly he was king of the flock. + +* * * * * + +Phoebe has not a vestige of sentiment. She just asked me if I would have +a duckling or a gosling for dinner; that there were two quite ready--the +brown and yellow duckling, that is the last to leave the water at night, +and the white gosling that never knows his own 'ouse. Which would I +'ave, and would I 'ave it with sage and onion? + +Now, had I found a duckling on the table at dinner I should have eaten it +without thinking at all, or with the thought that it had come from +Barbury Green. But eat a duckling that I have stoned out of the pond, +pursued up the bank, chased behind the wire netting, caught, screaming, +in a corner, and carried struggling to his bed? Feed upon an idiot +gosling that I have found in nine different coops on nine successive +nights--in with the newly-hatched chicks, the half-grown pullets, the +setting hen, the "invaleed goose," the drake with the gapes, the old +ducks in the pen?--Eat a gosling that I have caught and put in with his +brothers and sisters (whom he never recognises) so frequently and +regularly that I am familiar with every joint in his body? + +In the first place, with my own small bump of locality and lack of +geography, I would never willingly consume a creature who might, by some +strange process of assimilation, make me worse in this respect; in the +second place, I should have to be ravenous indeed to sit down +deliberately and make a meal of an intimate friend, no matter if I had +not a high opinion of his intelligence. I should as soon think of eating +the Square Baby, stuffed with sage and onion and garnished with green +apple-sauce, as the yellow duckling or the idiot gosling. + +Mrs. Heaven has just called me into her sitting-room, ostensibly to ask +me to order breakfast, but really for the pleasure of conversation. Why +she should inquire whether I would relish some gammon of bacon with eggs, +when she knows that there has not been, is not now, and never will be, +anything but gammon of bacon with eggs, is more than I can explain. + +"Would you like to see my flowers, miss?" she asks, folding her plump +hands over her white apron. "They are looking beautiful this morning. I +am so fond of potted plants, of plants in pots. Look at these geraniums! +Now, I consider that pink one a perfect bloom; yes, a perfect bloom. This +is a fine red one, is it not, miss? Especially fine, don't you think? +The trouble with the red variety is that they're apt to get "bobby" and +have to be washed regularly; quite bobby they do get indeed, I assure +you. That white one has just gone out of blossom, and it was really +wonderful. You could 'ardly have told it from a paper flower, miss, not +from a white paper flower. My plants are my children nowadays, since +Albert Edward is my only care. I have been the mother of eleven +children, miss, all of them living, so far as I know; I know nothing to +the contrary. I 'ope you are not wearying of this solitary place, miss? +It will grow upon you, I am sure, as it did upon Mrs. Pollock, with all +her peculiar fancies, and as it 'as grown upon us.--We formerly had a +butcher's shop in Buffington, and it was naturally a great +responsibility. Mr. Heaven's nerves are not strong, and at last he +wanted a life of more quietude, more quietude was what he craved. The +life of a retail butcher is a most exciting and wearying one. Nobody +satisfied with their meat; as if it mattered in a world of change! +Everybody complaining of too much bone or too little fat; nobody wishing +tough chops or cutlets, but always seeking after fine joints, when it's +against reason and nature that all joints should be juicy and all cutlets +tender; always complaining if livers are not sent with every fowl, always +asking you to remember the trimmin's, always wanting their beef well +'ung, and then if you 'ang it a minute too long, it's left on your 'ands! +I often used to say to Mr. Heaven, yes many's the time I've said it, that +if people would think more of the great 'ereafter and less about their +own little stomachs, it would be a deal better for them, yes, a deal +better, and make it much more comfortable for the butchers!" + +{The life . . . is a most exciting and wearying one: p65.jpg} + +* * * * * + +Burd Alane has had a good quarter of an hour to-day. + +{His spouse took a brief promenade with him: p66.jpg} + +His spouse took a brief promenade with him. To be sure, it was during an +absence of the flock on the other side of the hedge so that the moral +effect of her spasm of wifely loyalty was quite lost upon them. I +strongly suspect that she would not have granted anything but a secret +interview. What a petty, weak, ignoble character! I really don't like +to think so badly of any fellow-creature as I am forced to think of that +politic, time-serving, pusillanimous goose. I believe she laid the egg +that produced the idiot gosling! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Here follows the true story of Sir Muscovy Drake, the Lady Blanche, and +Miss Malardina Crippletoes. + +Phoebe's flock consisted at first mostly of Brown Mallards, but a friend +gave her a sitting of eggs warranted to produce a most beautiful variety +of white ducks. They were hatched in due time, but proved hard to raise, +till at length there was only one survivor, of such uncommon grace and +beauty that we called her the Lady Blanche. Presently a neighbour sold +Phoebe his favourite Muscovy drake, and these two splendid creatures by +"natural selection" disdained to notice the rest of the flock, but +forming a close friendship, wandered in the pleasant paths of duckdom +together, swimming and eating quite apart from the others. + +In the brown flock there was one unfortunate, misshapen from the egg, +quite lame, and with no smoothness of plumage; but on that very account, +apparently, or because she was too weak to resist them, the others +treated her cruelly, biting her and pushing her away from the food. + +One day it happened that the two ducks--Sir Muscovy and Lady Blanche--had +come up from the water before the others, and having taken their repast +were sitting together under the shade of a flowering currant-bush, when +they chanced to see poor Miss Crippletoes very badly used and crowded +away from the dish. Sir Muscovy rose to his feet; a few rapid words +seemed to pass between him and his mate, and then he fell upon the other +drake and the heartless minions who had persecuted the helpless one, +drove them far away out of sight, and, returning, went to the corner +where the victim was cowering, her face to the wall. He seemed to +whisper to her, or in some way to convey to her a sense of protection; +for after a few moments she tremblingly went with him to the dish, and +hurriedly ate her dinner while he stood by, repulsing the advances of the +few brown ducks who remained near and seemed inclined to attack her. + +When she had eaten enough Lady Blanche joined them, and they went down +the hill together to their favourite swimming-place. After that Miss +Crippletoes always followed a little behind her protectors, and thus +shielded and fed she grew stronger and well-feathered, though she was +always smaller than she should have been and had a lowly manner, keeping +a few steps in the rear of her superiors and sitting at some distance +from their noon resting-place. + +Phoebe noticed after a while that Lady Blanche was seldom to be seen, and +Sir Muscovy and Miss Crippletoes often came to their meals without her. +The would-be mother refused to inhabit the house Phoebe had given her, +and for a long time the place she had chosen for her sitting could not be +found. At length the Square Baby discovered her in a most ideal spot. A +large boulder had dropped years ago into the brook that fills our duck- +pond; dropped and split in halves with the two smooth walls leaning away +from each other. A grassy bank towered behind, and on either side of the +opening, tall bushes made a miniature forest where the romantic mother +could brood her treasures while her two guardians enjoyed the water close +by her retreat. + +All this happened before my coming to Thornycroft Farm, but it was I who +named the hero and heroines of the romance when Phoebe had told me all +the particulars. Yesterday morning I was sitting by my open window. It +was warm, sunny, and still, but in the country sounds travel far, and I +could hear fowl conversation in various parts of the poultry-yard as well +as in all the outlying bits of territory occupied by our feathered +friends. Hens have only three words and a scream in their language, but +ducks, having more thoughts to express, converse quite fluently, so +fluently, in fact, that it reminds me of dinner at the Hydropathic Hotel. +I fancy I have learned to distinguish seven separate sounds, each varied +by degrees of intensity, and with upward or downward inflections like the +Chinese tongue. + +In the distance, then, I heard the faint voice of a duck calling as if +breathless and excited. While I wondered what was happening, I saw Miss +Crippletoes struggling up the steep bank above the duck-pond. It was the +quickest way from the water to the house, but difficult for the little +lame webbed feet. When she reached the level grass sward she sank down a +moment, exhausted; but when she could speak again she cried out, a sharp +staccato call, and ran forward. + +Instantly she was answered from a distant knoll, where for some reason +Sir Muscovy loved to retire for meditation. The cries grew lower and +softer as the birds approached each other, and they met at the corner +just under my window. Instantly they put their two bills together and +the loud cries changed to confiding murmurs. Evidently some hurried +questions and answers passed between them, and then Sir Muscovy waddled +rapidly by the quickest path, Miss Crippletoes following him at a slower +pace, and both passed out of sight, using their wings to help their feet +down the steep declivity. The next morning, when I wakened early, my +first thought was to look out, and there on the sunny greensward where +they were accustomed to be fed, Sir Muscovy, Lady Blanche, and their +humble maid, Malardina Crippletoes, were scattering their own breakfast +before the bills of twelve beautiful golden balls of ducklings. The +little creatures could never have climbed the bank, but must have started +from their nest at dawn, coming round by the brook to the level at the +foot of the garden, and so by slow degrees up to the house. + +Judging from what I heard and knew of their habits, I am sure the +excitement of the previous morning was occasioned by the hatching of the +eggs, and that Lady Blanche had hastily sent her friend to call Sir +Muscovy, the family remaining together until they could bring the babies +with them and display their beauty to Phoebe and me. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +July 14th. + +We are not wholly without the pleasures of the town in Barbury Green. +Once or twice in a summer, late on a Saturday afternoon, a procession of +red and yellow vans drives into a field near the centre of the village. +By the time the vans are unpacked all the children in the community are +surrounding the gate of entrance. There is rifle-shooting, there is +fortune-telling, there are games of pitch and toss, and swings, and +French bagatelle; and, to crown all, a wonderful orchestrion that goes by +steam. The water is boiled for the public's tea, and at the same time +thrilling strains of melody are flung into the air. There is at present +only one tune in the orchestrion's repertory, but it is a very good tune; +though after hearing it three hundred and seven times in a single +afternoon, it pursues one, sleeping and waking, for the next week. Phoebe +and I took the Square Baby and went in to this diversified entertainment. +There was a small crowd of children at the entrance, but as none of them +seemed to be provided with pennies, and I felt in a fairy godmother mood, +I offered them the freedom of the place at my expense. + +I never purchased more radiant good-will for less money, but the combined +effect of the well-boiled tea and the boiling orchestrion produced many +village nightmares, so the mothers told me at chapel next morning. + +* * * * * + +I have many friends in Barbury Green, and often have a pleasant chat with +the draper, and the watchmaker, and the chemist. + +{The freedom of the place at my expense: p74.jpg} + +The last house on the principal street is rather an ugly one, with +especially nice window curtains. As I was taking my daily walk to the +post-office (an entirely unfruitful expedition thus far, as nobody has +taken the pains to write to me) I saw a nursemaid coming out of the gate, +wheeling a baby in a perambulator. She was going placidly away from the +Green when, far in the distance, she espied a man walking rapidly toward +us, a heavy Gladstone bag in one hand. She gazed fixedly for a moment, +her eyes brightening and her cheeks flushing with pleasure,--whoever it +was, it was an unexpected arrival;--then she retraced her steps and, +running up the garden-path, opened the front door and held an excited +colloquy with somebody; a slender somebody in a nice print gown and +neatly-dressed hair, who came to the gate and peeped beyond the hedge +several times, drawing back between peeps with smiles and heightened +colour. She did not run down the road, even when she had satisfied +herself of the identity of the traveller; perhaps that would not have +been good form in an English village, for there were houses on the +opposite side of the way. She waited until he opened the gate, the +nursemaid took the bag and looked discreetly into the hedge, then the +mistress slipped her hand through the traveller's arm and walked up the +path as if she had nothing else in the world to wish for. The nurse had +a part in the joy, for she lifted the baby out of the perambulator and +showed proudly how much he had grown. + +It was a dear little scene, and I, a passer-by, had shared in it and felt +better for it. I think their content was no less because part of it had +enriched my life, for happiness, like mercy, is twice blessed; it blesses +those who are most intimately associated in it, and it blesses all those +who see it, hear it, feel it, touch it, or breathe the same atmosphere. A +laughing, crowing baby in a house, one cheerful woman singing about her +work, a boy whistling at the plough, a romance just suspected, with its +miracle of two hearts melting into one--the wind's always in the west +when you have any of these wonder-workers in your neighbourhood. + +I have talks too, sometimes, with the old parson, who lives in a quaint +house with "_Parva Domus Magna Quies_" cut into the stone over the +doorway. He is not a preaching parson, but a retired one, almost the +nicest kind, I often think. + +He has been married thirty years, he tells me; thirty years, spent in the +one little house with the bricks painted red and grey alternately, and +the scarlet holly-hocks growing under the windows. I am sure they have +been sweet, true, kind years, and that his heart must be a quiet, +peaceful place just like his house and garden. + +"I was only eleven years old when I fell in love with my wife," he told +me as we sat on the seat under the lime-tree; he puffing cosily at his +pipe, I plaiting grasses for a hatband. + +{Puffing cosily at his pipe: p77.jpg} + +"It was just before Sunday-school. Her mother had dressed her all in +white muslin like a fairy, but she had stepped on the edge of a puddle, +and some of the muddy water had bespattered her frock. A circle of +children had surrounded her, and some of the motherly little girls were +on their knees rubbing at the spots anxiously, while one of them wiped +away the tears that were running down her pretty cheeks. I looked! It +was fatal! I did not look again, but I was smitten to the very heart! I +did not speak to her for six years, but when I did, it was all right with +both of us, thank God! and I've been in love with her ever since, when +she behaves herself!" + +That is the way they speak of love in Barbury Green, and oh! how much +sweeter and more wholesome it is than the language of the town! Who +would not be a Goose Girl, "to win the secret of the weed's plain heart"? +It seems to me that in society we are always gazing at magic-lantern +shows, but here we rest our tired eyes with looking at the stars. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +{A Hen Conference: p79.jpg} + +July 16th. + +Phoebe and I have been to a Hen Conference at Buffington. It was for the +purpose of raising the standard of the British Hen, and our local +Countess, who is much interested in poultry, was in the chair. + +It was a very learned body, but Phoebe had coached me so well that at the +noon recess I could talk confidently with the members, discussing the +various advantages of True and Crossed Minorcas, Feverels, Andalusians, +Cochin Chinas, Shanghais, and the White Leghorn. (Phoebe, when she +pronounces this word, leaves out the "h" and bears down heavily on the +last syllable, so that it rhymes with begone!) + +As I was sitting under the trees waiting for Phoebe to finish some +shopping in the village, a travelling poultry-dealer came along and +offered to sell me a silver Wyandotte pullet and cockerel. This was a +new breed to me and I asked the price, which proved to be more than I +should pay for a hat in Bond Street. I hesitated, thinking meantime what +a delightful parting gift they would be for Phoebe; I mean if we ever +should part, which seems more and more unlikely, as I shall never leave +Thornycroft until somebody comes properly to fetch me; indeed, unless the +"fetching" is done somewhat speedily I may decline to go under any +circumstances. My indecision as to the purchase was finally banished +when the poultryman asserted that the fowls had clear open centres all +over, black lacing entirely round the white centres, were free from white +edging, and each had a cherry-red eye. This catalogue of charms inflamed +my imagination, though it gave me no mental picture of a silver Wyandotte +fowl, and I paid the money while the dealer crammed the chicks, squawking +into my five-o'clock tea-basket. + +{Arguing questions of diet: p81.jpg} + +The afternoon session of the conference was most exciting, for we reached +the subject of imported eggs, an industry that is assuming terrifying +proportions. The London hotel egg comes from Denmark, it seems,--I +should think by sailing vessel, not steamer, but I may be wrong. After +we had settled that the British Hen should be protected and encouraged, +and agreed solemnly to abstain from Danish eggs in any form, and made a +resolution stating that our loyalty to Queen Alexandra would remain +undiminished, we argued the subject of hen diet. There was a great +difference of opinion here and the discussion was heated; the honorary +treasurer standing for pulped mangold and flint grit, the chair insisting +on barley meal and randans, while one eloquent young woman declared, to +loud cries of "'Ear, 'ear!" that rice pudding and bone chips produce more +eggs to the square hen than any other sort of food. Impassioned orators +arose here and there in the audience demanding recognition for beef +scraps, charcoal, round corn or buckwheat. Foods were regarded from +various standpoints: as general invigorators, growth assisters, and egg +producers. A very handsome young farmer carried off final honours, and +proved to the satisfaction of all the feminine poultry-raisers that green +young hog bones fresh cut in the Banner Bone Breaker (of which he was the +agent) possessed a nutritive value not to be expressed in human language. + +{The afternoon session was most exciting: p82.jpg} + +Phoebe was distinctly nervous when I rose to say a few words on poultry +breeding, announcing as my topic "Mothers, Stepmothers, Foster-Mothers, +and Incubators." Protected by the consciousness that no one in the +assemblage could possibly know me, I made a distinct success in my maiden +speech; indeed, I somewhat overshot the mark, for the Countess in the +chair sent me a note asking me to dine with her that evening. I +suppressed the note and took Phoebe away before the proceedings were +finished, vanishing from the scene of my triumphs like a veiled prophet. + +Just as we were passing out the door we paused to hear the report of a +special committee whose chairman read the following resolutions:-- + +_Whereas_,--It has pleased the Almighty to remove from our midst our +greatest Rose Comb Buff Orpington fancier and esteemed friend, Albert +Edward Sheridain; therefore be it + +_Resolved_,--That the next edition of our catalogue contain an +illustrated memorial page in his honour and + +_Resolved_,--That the Rose Comb Buff Orpington Club extend to the +bereaved family their heartfelt sympathy. + +{Not asked to the Conference: p84.jpg} + +The handsome young farmer followed us out to our trap, invited us to +attend the next meeting of the R. C. B. O. Club, of which he was the +secretary, and asked if I were intending to "show." I introduced Phoebe +as the senior partner, and she concealed the fact that we possessed but +one Buff Orpington, and he was a sad "invaleed" not suitable for +exhibition. The farmer's expression as he looked at me was almost lover- +like, and when he pressed a bit of paper into my hand I was sure it must +be an offer of marriage. It was in fact only a circular describing the +Banner Bone Breaker. It closed with an appeal to Buff Orpington breeders +to raise and ever raise the standard, bidding them remember, in the midst +of a low-minded and sordid civilisation, that the rose comb should be +small and neat, firmly set on, with good working, a nice spike at the +back lying well down to head, and never, under any circumstances, never +sticking up. This adjuration somewhat alarmed us as Phoebe and I had +been giving our Buff Orpington cockerel the most drastic remedies for his +languid and prostrate comb. + +{Coming home: p85.jpg} + +Coming home we alighted from the trap to gather hogweed for the rabbits. +I sat by the wayside lazily and let Phoebe gather the appetising weed, +which grows along the thorniest hedges in close proximity to nettles and +thistles. + +Workmen were trudging along with their luncheon-baskets of woven +bulrushes slung over their shoulders. Fields of ripening grain lay on +either hand, the sun shining on their every shade of green and yellow, +bronze and orange, while the breeze stirred the bearded barley into a +rippling golden sea. + +Phoebe asked me if the people I had left behind at the Hydropathic were +my relatives. + +"Some of them are of remote consanguinity," I responded evasively, and +the next question was hushed upon her awe-stricken tongue, as I intended. + +"They are obeying my wish to be let alone, there's no doubt of that," I +was thinking. "For my part, I like a little more spirit, and a little +less 'letter'!" + +{Workmen were trudging home: p87.jpg} + +As the word "letter" flitted through my thoughts, I pulled one from my +pocket and glanced through it carelessly. It arrived, somewhat tardily, +only last night, or I should not have had it with me. I wore the same +dress to the post-office yesterday that I wore to the Hen Conference to- +day, and so it chanced to be still in the pocket. If it had been +anything I valued, of course I should have lost or destroyed it by +mistake; it is only silly, worthless little things like this that keep +turning up and turning up after one has forgotten their existence. + + "You are a mystery!" [it ran.] "I can apprehend, but not comprehend + you. I know you in part. I understand various bits of your nature; + but my knowledge is always fragmentary and disconnected, and when I + attempt to make a whole of the mosaics I merely get a kaleidoscopic + effect. Do you know those geographical dissected puzzles that they + give to children? You remind me of one of them. + + "I have spent many charming (and dangerous) hours trying to 'put you + together'; but I find, when I examine my picture closely, that after + all I've made a purple mountain grow out of a green tree; that my + river is running up a steep hillside; and that the pretty milkmaid, + who should be wandering in the forest, is standing on her head with + her pail in the air + + "Do you understand yourself clearly? Or is it just possible that when + you dive to the depths of your own consciousness, you sometimes find + the pretty milkmaid standing on her head? I wonder!" . . . + +Ah, well, it is no wonder that he wonders! So do I, for that matter! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +{Along the highway: p89.jpg} + +July 17th. + +Thornycroft Farm seems to be the musical centre of the universe. + +When I wake very early in the morning I lie in a drowsy sort of dream, +trying to disentangle, one from the other, the various bird notes, +trills, coos, croons, chirps, chirrups, and warbles. Suddenly there +falls on the air a delicious, liquid, finished song; so pure, so mellow, +so joyous, that I go to the window and look out at the morning world, +half awakened, like myself. + +There is I know not what charm in a window that does not push up, but +opens its lattices out into the greenness. And mine is like a little +jewelled door, for the sun is shining from behind the chimneys and +lighting the tiny diamond panes with amber flashes. + +A faint delicate haze lies over the meadow, and rising out of it, and +soaring toward the blue is the lark, flinging out that matchless matin +song, so rich, so thrilling, so lavish! As the blithe melody fades away, +I hear the plaintive ballad-fragments of the robin on a curtsying branch +near my window; and there is always the liquid pipe of the thrush, who +must quaff a fairy goblet of dew between his songs, I should think, so +fresh and eternally young is his note. + +There is another beautiful song that I follow whenever I hear it, +straining my eyes to the treetops, yet never finding a bird that I can +identify as the singer. Can it be the-- + + "Ousel-cock so black of hue, + With orange-tawny bill"? + +He is called the poet-laureate of the primrose time, but I don't know +whether he sings in midsummer, and I have not seen him hereabouts. I +must write and ask my dear Man of the North. The Man of the North, I +sometimes think, had a Fairy Grandmother who was a robin; and perhaps she +made a nest of fresh moss and put him in the green wood when he was a wee +bairnie, so that he waxed wise in bird-lore without knowing it. At all +events, describe to him the cock of a head, the glance of an eye, the tip- +up of a tail, or the sheen of a feather, and he will name you the bird. +Near-sighted he is, too, the Man of the North, but that is only for +people. + +The Square Baby and I have a new game. + +I bought a doll's table and china tea-set in Buffington. We put it under +an apple-tree in the side garden, where the scarlet lightning grows so +tall and the Madonna lilies stand so white against the flaming +background. We built a little fence around it, and every afternoon at +tea-time we sprinkle seeds and crumbs in the dishes, water in the tiny +cups, drop a cherry in each of the fruit-plates, and have a _the +chantant_ for the birdies. We sometimes invite an "invaleed" duckling, +or one of the baby rabbits, or the peacock, in which case the cards +read:-- + + _Thornycroft Farm_. + The pleasure of your company is requested + at a + _The Chantant_ + Under the Apple Tree. + Music at five. + +It is a charming game, as I say, but I'd far rather play it with the Man +of the North; he is so much younger than the Square Baby, and so much +more responsive, too. + +{The scent of the hay: p92.jpg} + +Thornycroft Farm is a sweet place, too, of odours as well as sounds. The +scent of the hay is for ever in the nostrils, the hedges are thick with +wild honeysuckle, so deliciously fragrant, the last of the June roses are +lingering to do their share, and blackberry blossoms and ripening fruit +as well. + +I have never known a place in which it is so easy to be good. I have not +said a word, nor scarcely harboured a thought, that was not lovely and +virtuous since I entered these gates, and yet there are those who think +me fantastic, difficult, hard to please, unreasonable! + +{The last of June: p93.jpg} + +I believe the saints must have lived in the country mostly (I am certain +they never tried Hydropathic hotels), and why anybody with a black heart +and natural love of wickedness should not simply buy a poultry farm and +become an angel, I cannot understand. + +{A place in which it is so easy to be good: p94.jpg} + +Living with animals is really a very improving and wholesome kind of +life, to the person who will allow himself to be influenced by their +sensible and high-minded ideals. When you come to think about it, man is +really the only animal that ever makes a fool of himself; the others are +highly civilised, and never make mistakes. I am going to mention this +when I write to somebody, sometime; I mean if I ever do. To be sure, our +human life is much more complicated than theirs, and I believe when the +other animals notice our errors of judgment they make allowances. The +bee is as busy as a bee, and the beaver works like a beaver, but there +their responsibility ends. The bee doesn't have to go about seeing that +other bees are not crowded into unsanitary tenements or victimised by the +sweating system. When the beaver's day of toil is over he doesn't have +to discuss the sphere, the rights, or the voting privileges of +beaveresses; all he has to do is to work like a beaver, and that is +comparatively simple. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +{Not particularly attracted by the poultry: p96.jpg} + +I have been studying _The Young Poultry Keeper's Friend_ of late. If +there is anything I dislike and deplore, it is the possession of +knowledge which I cannot put to practical use. Having discovered an +interesting disease called Scaly Leg in the July number, I took the +magazine out into the poultry-yard and identified the malady on three +hens and a cock. Phoebe joined me in the diagnosis and we treated the +victims with a carbolic lotion and scrubbed them with vaseline. + +{Leaned languidly against the netting: p97.jpg} + +As Phoebe and I grow wise in medical lore the case of Cannibal Ann +assumes a different aspect. As the bibulous man quaffs more and more +flagons of beer and wine when his daily food is ham, salt fish, and +cabbage, so does the hen avenge her wrongs of diet and woes of +environment. Cannibal Ann, herself, has, so far as we know, been raised +in a Christian manner and enjoyed all the advantages of modern methods; +but her maternal parent may have lived in some heathen poultry-yard which +was asphalted or bricked or flagged, so that she was debarred from +scratching in Mother Earth and was forced to eat her own shells in self- +defence. + +* * * * * + +The Square Baby is not particularly attracted by the poultry as a whole, +save when it is boiled with bacon or roasted with bread-sauce; but he is +much interested in the "invaleeds." Whenever Phoebe and I start for the +hospital with the tobacco-pills, the tin of paraffin, and the bottle of +oil, he is very much in evidence. Perhaps he has a natural leaning +toward the medical profession; at any rate, when pain and anguish wring +the brow, he is in close attendance upon the ministering angels. + +{Staggered and reeled: p98.jpg} + +Now it is necessary for the physician to have practice as well as theory, +so the Square Baby, being left to himself this afternoon, proceeded to +perfect himself in some of the healing arts used by country +practitioners. + +{Caught her son red-handed: p99.jpg} + +When discovered, he was seated in front of the wire-covered "run" +attached to a coop occupied by the youngest goslings. A couple of +bottles and a box stood by his side, and I should think he had +administered a cup of sweet oil, a pint of paraffin, and a quarter of a +pound of tobacco during his clinic. He had used the remedies +impartially, sometimes giving the paraffin internally and rubbing the +patient's head with tobacco or oil, sometimes the reverse. + +Several goslings leaned languidly against the netting, or supported +themselves by the edge of the water-dish, while others staggered and +reeled about with eyes half closed. + +{He was treated summarily and smartly: p100.jpg} + +It was Mrs. Heaven who caught her son red-handed, so to speak. She was +dressed in her best, and just driving off to Woodmucket to spend a day or +two with her married daughter, and soothe her nerves with the uproar +incident to a town of six hundred inhabitants. She delayed her journey a +half-hour--long enough, in fact, to change her black silk waist for a +loose sacque which would give her arms full and comfortable play. The +joy and astonishment that greeted the Square Baby on his advent, five +years ago, was forgotten for the first time in his brief life, and he was +treated precisely as any ordinary wrongdoer would have been treated under +the same circumstances, summarily and smartly; the "wepping," as Phoebe +would say, being Mrs. Heaven's hand. + +All but one of the goslings lived, like thousands of others who recover +in spite of the doctors, but the Square Baby's interest in the healing +art is now perceptibly lessened. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +July 18th. + +The day was Friday; Phoebe's day to go to Buffington with eggs and +chickens and rabbits; her day to solicit orders for ducklings and +goslings. The village cart was ready in the stable; Mr. and Mrs. Heaven +were in Woodmucket; I was eating my breakfast (which I remember was an +egg and a rasher) when Phoebe came in, a figure of woe. + +The Square Baby was ill, very ill, and would not permit her to leave him +and go to market. Would I look at him? For he must have dowsed 'imself +as well as the goslings yesterday; anyways he was strong of paraffin and +tobacco, though he 'ad 'ad a good barth. + +I prescribed for Albert Edward, who was as uncomfortable and feverish as +any little sinner in the county of Sussex, and I then promptly proposed +going to Buffington in Phoebe's place. + +She did not think it at all proper, and said that, notwithstanding my +cotton gown and sailor hat, I looked quite, quite the lydy, and it would +never do. + +"I cannot get any new orders," said I, "but I can certainly leave the +rabbits and eggs at the customary places. I know Argent's Dining +Parlours, and Songhurst's Tea Rooms, and the Six Bells Inn, as well as +you do." + +{The Six Bells found the last poultry somewhat tough: p103.jpg} + +So, donning a pair of Phoebe's large white cotton gloves with open-work +wrists (than which I always fancy there is no one article that so +disguises the perfect lydy), I set out upon my travels, upborne by a +lively sense of amusement that was at least equal to my feeling that I +was doing Phoebe Heaven a good turn. + +Prices in dressed poultry were fluctuating, but I had a copy of _The +Trade Review_, issued that very day, and was able to get some idea of +values and the state of the market as I jogged along. The general +movement, I learned, was moderate and of a "selective" character. Choice +large capons and ducks were in steady demand, but I blushed for my +profession when I read that roasting chickens were running coarse, +staggy, and of irregular value. Old hens were held firmly at sixpence, +and it is my experience that they always have to be, at whatever price. +Geese were plenty, dull, and weak. Old cocks,--why don't they say +roosters?--declined to threepence ha'penny on Thursday in sympathy with +fowls,--and who shall say that chivalry is dead? Turkeys were a trifle +steadier, and there was a speculative movement in limed eggs. All this +was illuminating, and I only wished I were quite certain whether the +sympathetic old roosters were threepence ha'penny apiece, or a pound. + +{The gadabout hen: p105.jpg} + +Everything happened as it should, on this first business journey of my +life, which is equivalent to saying that nothing happened at all. +Songhurst's Tea Rooms took five dozen eggs and told me to bring six dozen +the next week. Argent's Dining Parlours purchased three pairs of +chickens and four rabbits. The Six Bells found the last poultry somewhat +tough and tasteless; whereupon I said that our orders were more than we +could possibly fill, still I hoped we could go on "selling them," as we +never liked to part with old customers, no matter how many new ones there +were. Privately, I understood the complaint only too well, for I knew +the fowls in question very intimately. Two of them were the runaway +rooster and the gadabout hen that never wanted to go to bed with the +others. The third was Cannibal Ann. I should have expected them to be +tough, but I cannot believe they were lacking in flavour. + +The only troublesome feature of the trip was that Mrs. Sowerbutt's +lodgers had suddenly left for London and she was unable to take the four +rabbits as she had hoped; but as an offset to that piece of ill-fortune +the Coke and Coal Yard and the Bicycle Repairing Rooms came out into the +street, and, stepping up to the trap, requested regular weekly deliveries +of eggs and chickens, and hoped that I would be able to bring them +myself. And so, in a happy frame of mind, I turned out of the Buffington +main street, and was jogging along homeward, when a very startling thing +happened; namely, a whole verse of the Bailiff's Daughter of Islington:-- + + "And as she went along the high road, + The weather being hot and dry, + She sat her down upon a green bank, + And her true love came riding by." + +That true lovers are given to riding by, in ballads, I know very well, +but I hardly supposed they did so in real life, especially when every +precaution had been taken to avert such a catastrophe. I had told the +Barbury Green postmistress, on the morning of my arrival, not to give the +Thornycroft address to anybody whatsoever, but finding, as the days +passed, that no one was bold enough or sensible enough to ask for it, I +haughtily withdrew my prohibition. About this time I began sending +envelopes, carefully addressed in a feigned hand, to a certain person at +the Oxenbridge Hydro. These envelopes contained no word of writing, but +held, on one day, only a bit of down from a hen's breast, on another, a +goose-quill, on another, a glossy tail-feather, on another, a grain of +corn, and so on. These trifles were regarded by me not as degrading or +unmaidenly hints and suggestions, but simply as tests of intelligence. +Could a man receive tokens of this sort and fail to put two and two +together? I feel that I might possibly support life with a domineering +and autocratic husband,--and there is every prospect that I shall be +called upon to do so,--but not with a stupid one. Suppose one were +linked for ever to a man capable of asking,--"Did _you_ send those +feathers? . . . How was I to guess? . . . How was a fellow to know they +came from you? . . . What on earth could I suppose they meant? . . . What +clue did they offer me as to your whereabouts? . . . Am I a Sherlock +Holmes?"--No, better eternal celibacy than marriage with such a being! + +{She was unable to take the four rabbits: p107.jpg} + +These were the thoughts that had been coursing through my goose-girl mind +while I had been selling dressed poultry, but in some way they had not +prepared me for the appearance of the aforesaid true love. + +To see the very person whom one has left civilisation to avoid is always +more or less surprising, and to make the meeting less likely, Buffington +is even farther from Oxenbridge than Barbury Green. The creature was +well mounted (ominous, when he came to override my caprice!) and he +looked bigger, and, yes, handsomer, though that doesn't signify, and +still more determined than when I saw him last; although goodness knows +that timidity and feebleness of purpose were not in striking evidence on +that memorable occasion. I had drawn up under the shade of a tree +ostensibly to eat some cherries, thinking that if I turned my face away I +might pass unrecognised. It was a stupid plan, for if I had whipped up +the mare and driven on, he of course, would have had to follow, and he +has too much dignity and self-respect to shriek recriminations into a +woman's ear from a distance. + +{The creature was well mounted: p109.jpg} + +He approached with deliberation, reined in his horse, and lifted his hat +ceremoniously. He has an extremely shapely head, but I did not show that +the sight of it melted in the least the ice of my resolve; whereupon we +talked, not very freely at first,--men are so stiff when they consider +themselves injured. However, silence is even more embarrassing than +conversation, so at length I begin:-- + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"It is a lovely day." + +_True Love_.--"Yes, but the drought is getting rather oppressive, don't +you think?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"The crops certainly need rain, and the feed is +becoming scarce." + +_True Love_.--"Are you a farmer's wife?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Oh no! that is a promotion to look forward to; I +am now only a Goose Girl." + +_True Love_.--"Indeed! If I wished to be severe I might remark: that I +am sure you have found at last your true vocation!" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"It was certainly through no desire to please +_you_ that I chose it." + +_True Love_.--"I am quite sure of that! Are you staying in this part?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Oh no! I live many miles distant, over an +extremely rough road. And you?" + +_True Love_.--"I am still at the Hydropathic; or at least my luggage is +there." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"It must be very pleasant to attract you so long." + +_True Love_.--"Not so pleasant as it was." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"No? A new proprietor, I suppose." + +_True Love_.--"No; same proprietor; but the house is empty." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (yawning purposely).--"That is strange; the hotels +are usually so full at this season. Why did so many leave?" + +_True Love_.--"As a matter of fact, only one left. 'Full' and 'empty' +are purely relative terms. I call a hotel full when it has you in it, +empty when it hasn't." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (dying to laugh, but concealing her feelings).--"I +trust my bulk does not make the same impression on the general public! +Well, I won't detain you longer; good afternoon; I must go home to my +evening work." + +_True Love_.--"I will accompany you." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"If you are a gentleman you will remain where you +are." + +_True Love_.--"In the road? Perhaps; but if I am a man I shall follow +you; they always do, I notice. What are those foolish bundles in the +back of that silly cart?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Feed for the pony, please, sir; fish for dinner; +randans and barley meal for the poultry; and four unsold rabbits. +Wouldn't you like them? Only one and sixpence apiece. Shot at three +o'clock this morning." + +_True Love_.--"Thanks; I don't like mine shot so early." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Oh, well! doubtless I shall be able to dispose of +them on my way home, though times is 'ard!" + +_True Love_.--"Do you mean that you will "peddle" them along the road?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"You understand me better than usual,--in fact to +perfection." + +He dismounts and strides to the back of the cart, lifts the covers, +seizes the rabbits, flings some silver contemptuously into the basket, +and looks about him for a place to bury his bargain. A small boy +approaching in the far distance will probably bag the game. + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (modestly).--"Thanks for your trade, sir, rather +ungraciously bestowed, and we 'opes for a continuance of your past +fyvors." + +_True Love_ (leaning on the wheel of the trap).--"Let us stop this +nonsense. What did you hope to gain by running away?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Distance and absence." + +_True Love_.--"You knew you couldn't prevent my offering myself to you +sometime or other." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Perhaps not; but I could at least defer it, +couldn't I?" + +_True Love_.--"Why postpone the inevitable?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Doubtless I shrank from giving you the pain of a +refusal." + +_True Love_.--"Perhaps; but do you know what I suspect?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"I'm not a suspicious person, thank goodness!" + +_True Love_.--"That, on the contrary, you are wilfully withholding from +me the joy of acceptance." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"If I intended to accept you, why did I run away?" + +_True Love_.--"To make yourself more desirable and precious, I suppose." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (with the most confident coquetry).--"Did I +succeed?" + +_True Love_.--"No; you failed utterly." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (secretly piqued).--"Then I am glad I tried it." + +_True Love_.--"You couldn't succeed because you were superlatively +desirable and precious already; but you should never have experimented. +Don't you know that Love is a high explosive?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Is it? Then it ought always to be labelled +'dangerous,' oughtn't it? But who thought of suggesting matches? I'm +sure I didn't!" + +_True Love_.--"No such luck; I wish you would." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"According to your theory, if you apply a match to +Love it is likely to 'go off.'" + +_True Love_.--"I wish you would try it on mine and await the result. Come +now, you'll have to marry somebody, sometime." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"I confess I don't see the necessity." + +_True Love_ (morosely).--"You're the sort of woman men won't leave in +undisturbed spinsterhood; they'll keep on badgering you." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Oh, I don't mind the badgering of a number of +men; it's rather nice. It's the one badger I find obnoxious." + +_True Love_ (impatiently).--"That's just the perversity of things. I +could put a stop to the protestations of the many; I should like nothing +better--but the pertinacity of the one! Ah, well! I can't drop that +without putting an end to my existence." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (politely).--"I shouldn't think of suggesting +anything so extreme." + +_True Love_ (quoting).--"'Mrs. Hauksbee proceeded to take the conceit out +of Pluffles as you remove the ribs of an umbrella before re-covering.' +However, you couldn't ask me anything seriously that I wouldn't do, dear +Mistress Perversity." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (yielding a point).--"I'll put that boldly to the +proof. Say you don't love me!" + +_True Love_ (seizing his advantage).--"I don't! It's imbecile and +besotted devotion! Tell me, when may I come to take you away?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (sighing).--"It's like asking me to leave Heaven." + +{Phoebe and Gladwish: p115.jpg} + +_True Love_.--"I know it; she told me where to find you,--Thornycroft is +the seventh poultry-farm I've visited,--but you could never leave Heaven, +you can't be happy without poultry, why that is a wish easily gratified. +I'll get you a farm to-morrow; no, it's Saturday, and the real estate +offices close at noon, but on Monday, without fail. Your ducks and +geese, always carrying it along with you. All you would have to do is to +admit me; Heaven is full of twos. If you shall swim on a crystal +lake--Phoebe told me what a genius you have for getting them out of the +muddy pond; she was sitting beside it when I called, her hand in that of +a straw-coloured person named Gladwish, and the ground in her vicinity +completely strewn with votive offerings. You shall splash your silver +sea with an ivory wand; your hens shall have suburban cottages, each with +its garden; their perches shall be of satin-wood and their water dishes +of mother-of-pearl. You shall be the Goose Girl and I will be the Swan +Herd--simply to be near you--for I hate live poultry. Dost like the +picture? It's a little like Claude Melnotte's, I confess. The fact is I +am not quite sane; talking with you after a fortnight of the tabbies at +the Hydro is like quaffing inebriating vodka after Miffin's Food! May I +come to-morrow?" + +_Bailiffs Daughter_ (hedging).--"I shall be rather busy; the Crossed +Minorca hen comes off to-morrow." + +_True Love_.--"Oh, never mind! I'll take her off to-night when I escort +you to the farm; then she'll get a day's advantage." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"And rob fourteen prospective chicks of a mother; +nay, lose the chicks themselves? Never!" + +_True Love_.--"So long as you are a Goose Girl, does it make any +difference whose you are? Is it any more agreeable to be Mrs. Heaven's +Goose Girl than mine?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Ah! but in one case the term of service is +limited; in the other, permanent." + +_True Love_.--"But in the one case you are the slave of the employer, in +the other the employer of the slave. Why did you run away?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"A man's mind is too dull an instrument to measure +a woman's reason; even my own fails sometimes to deal with all its +delicate shades; but I think I must have run away chiefly to taste the +pleasure of being pursued and brought back. If it is necessary to your +happiness that you should explore all the Bluebeard chambers of my being, +I will confess further that it has taken you nearly three weeks to +accomplish what I supposed you would do in three days!" + +_True Love_ (after a well-spent interval).--"To-morrow, then; shall we +say before breakfast? All, do! Why not? Well, then, immediately after +breakfast, and I breakfast at seven nowadays, and sometimes earlier. Do +take off those ugly cotton gloves, dear; they are five sizes too large +for you, and so rough and baggy to the touch!" + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL*** + + +******* This file should be named 1867.txt or 1867.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/6/1867 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net + + + + + +Title: The Diary of a Goose Girl + + +Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin + +Release Date: April 11, 2005 [eBook #1867] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1902 Gay and Bird edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL</h1> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<p>THORNYCROFT FARM, near Barbury Green, July 1, 190-.</p> +<p>In alluding to myself as a Goose Girl, I am using only the most modest +of my titles; for I am also a poultry-maid, a tender of Belgian hares +and rabbits, and a shepherdess; but I particularly fancy the rôle +of Goose Girl, because it recalls the German fairy tales of my early +youth, when I always yearned, but never hoped, to be precisely what +I now am.</p> +<p>As I was jolting along these charming Sussex roads the other day, +a fat buff pony and a tippy cart being my manner of progression, I chanced +upon the village of Barbury Green.</p> +<p>One glance was enough for any woman, who, having eyes to see, could +see with them; but I made assurance doubly sure by driving about a little, +struggling to conceal my new-born passion from the stable-boy who was +my escort. Then, it being high noon of a cloudless day, I descended +from the trap and said to the astonished yokel: “You may go back +to the Hydropathic; I am spending a month or two here. Wait a +moment—I’ll send a message, please!”</p> +<p>I then scribbled a word or two to those having me in custody.</p> +<p>“I am very tired of people,” the note ran, “and +want to rest myself by living a while with things. Address me +(if you must) at Barbury Green post-office, or at all events send me +a box of simple clothing there—nothing but shirts and skirts, +please. I cannot forget that I am only twenty miles from Oxenbridge +(though it might be one hundred and twenty, which is the reason I adore +it), but I rely upon you to keep an honourable distance yourselves, +and not to divulge my place of retreat to others, especially to—you +know whom! Do not pursue me. I will never be taken alive!”</p> +<p>Having cut, thus, the cable that bound me to civilisation, and having +seen the buff pony and the dazed yokel disappear in a cloud of dust, +I looked about me with what Stevenson calls a “fine, dizzy, muddle-headed +joy,” the joy of a successful rebel or a liberated serf. +Plenty of money in my purse—that was unromantic, of course, but +it simplified matters—and nine hours of daylight remaining in +which to find a lodging.</p> +<p>The village is one of the oldest, and I am sure it must be one of +the quaintest, in England. It is too small to be printed on the +map (an honour that has spoiled more than one Arcadia), so pray do not +look there, but just believe in it, and some day you may be rewarded +by driving into it by chance, as I did, and feel the same Columbus thrill +running, like an electric current, through your veins. I withhold +specific geographical information in order that you may not miss that +Columbus thrill, which comes too seldom in a world of railroads.</p> +<p>The Green is in the very centre of Barbury village, and all civic, +political, family, and social life converges there, just at the public +duck-pond—a wee, sleepy lake with a slope of grass-covered stones +by which the ducks descend for their swim.</p> +<p>The houses are set about the Green like those in a toy village. +They are of old brick, with crumpled, up-and-down roofs of deep-toned +red, and tufts of stonecrop growing from the eaves. Diamond-paned +windows, half open, admit the sweet summer air; and as for the gardens +in front, it would seem as if the inhabitants had nothing to do but +work in them, there is such a riotous profusion of colour and bloom. +To add to the effect, there are always pots of flowers hanging from +the trees, blue flax and yellow myrtle; and cages of Java sparrows and +canaries singing joyously, as well they may in such a paradise.</p> +<p>The shops are idyllic, too, as if Nature had seized even the man +of trade and made him subservient to her designs. The general +draper’s, where I fitted myself out for a day or two quite easily, +is set back in a tangle of poppies and sweet peas, Madonna lilies and +Canterbury bells. The shop itself has a gay awning, and what do +you think the draper has suspended from it, just as a picturesque suggestion +to the passer-by? Suggestion I call it, because I should blush +to use the word advertisement in describing anything so dainty and decorative. +Well, then, garlands of shoes, if you please! Baby bootlets of +bronze; tiny ankle-ties in yellow, blue, and scarlet kid; glossy patent-leather +pumps shining in the sun, with festoons of slippers at the corners, +flowery slippers in imitation Berlin wool-work. If you make this +picture in your mind’s-eye, just add a window above the awning, +and over the fringe of marigolds in the window-box put the draper’s +wife dancing a rosy-cheeked baby. Alas! my words are only black +and white, I fear, and this picture needs a palette drenched in primary +colours.</p> +<p>Along the street, a short distance, is the old watchmaker’s. +Set in the hedge at the gate is a glass case with <i>Multum in Parvo</i> +painted on the woodwork. Within, a little stand of trinkets revolves +slowly; as slowly, I imagine, as the current of business in that quiet +street. The house stands a trifle back and is covered thickly +with ivy, while over the entrance-door of the shop is a great round +clock set in a green frame of clustering vine. The hands pointed +to one when I passed the watchmaker’s garden with its thicket +of fragrant lavender and its murmuring bees; so I went in to the sign +of the “Strong i’ the Arm” for some cold luncheon, +determining to patronise “The Running Footman” at the very +next opportunity. Neither of these inns is starred by Baedeker, +and this fact adds the last touch of enchantment to the picture.</p> +<p>The landlady at the “Strong i’ the Arm” stabbed +me in the heart by telling me that there were no apartments to let in +the village, and that she had no private sitting-room in the inn; but +she speedily healed the wound by saying that I might be accommodated +at one of the farm-houses in the vicinity. Did I object to a farm-’ouse? +Then she could cheerfully recommend the Evan’s farm, only ’alf +a mile away. She ’ad understood from Miss Phoebe Evan, who +sold her poultry, that they would take one lady lodger if she didn’t +wish much waiting upon.</p> +<p>In my present mood I was in search of the strenuous life, and eager +to wait, rather than to be waited upon; so I walked along the edge of +the Green, wishing that some mentally unbalanced householder would take +a sudden fancy to me and ask me to come in and lodge awhile. I +suppose these families live under their roofs of peach-blow tiles, in +the midst of their blooming gardens, for a guinea a week or thereabouts; +yet if they “undertook” me (to use their own phrase), the +bill for my humble meals and bed would be at least double that. +I don’t know that I blame them; one should have proper compensation +for admitting a world-stained lodger into such an Eden.</p> +<p>When I was searching for rooms a week ago, I chanced upon a pretty +cottage where the woman had sometimes let apartments. She showed +me the premises and asked me if I would mind taking my meals in her +own dining-room, where I could be served privately at certain hours: +and, since she had but the one sitting-room, would I allow her to go +on using it occasionally? also, if I had no special preference, would +I take the second-sized bedroom and leave her in possession of the largest +one, which permitted her to have the baby’s crib by her bedside? +She thought I should be quite as comfortable, and it was her opinion +that in making arrangements with lodgers, it was a good plan not to +“bryke up the ’ome any more than was necessary.”</p> +<p>“Bryke up the ’ome!” That is seemingly the +malignant purpose with which I entered Barbury Green.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>July 4th.</p> +<p>Enter the family of Thornycroft Farm, of which I am already a member +in good and regular standing.</p> +<p>I introduce Mrs. Heaven first, for she is a self-saturated person +who would never forgive the insult should she receive any lower place.</p> +<p>She welcomed me with the statement: “We do not take lodgers +here, nor boarders; no lodgers, nor boarders, but we do occasionally +admit paying guests, those who look as if they would appreciate the +quietude of the plyce and be willing as you might say to remunerate +according.”</p> +<p>I did not mind at this particular juncture what I was called, so +long as the epithet was comparatively unobjectionable, so I am a paying +guest, therefore, and I expect to pay handsomely for the handsome appellation. +Mrs. Heaven is short and fat; she fills her dress as a pin-cushion fills +its cover; she wears a cap and apron, and she is so full of platitudes +that she would have burst had I not appeared as a providential outlet +for them. Her accent is not of the farm, but of the town, and +smacks wholly of the marts of trade. She is repetitious, too, +as well as platitudinous. “I ’ope if there’s +anythink you require you will let us know, let us know,” she says +several times each day; and whenever she enters my sitting-room she +prefaces her conversation with the remark: “I trust you are finding +it quiet here, miss? It’s the quietude of the plyce that +is its charm, yes, the quietude. And yet” (she dribbles +on) “it wears on a body after a while, miss. I often go +into Woodmucket to visit one of my sons just for the noise, simply for +the noise, miss, for nothink else in the world but the noise. +There’s nothink like noise for soothing nerves that is worn threadbare +with the quietude, miss, or at least that’s my experience; and +yet to a strynger the quietude of the plyce is its charm, undoubtedly +its chief charm; and that is what our paying guests always say, although +our charges are somewhat higher than other plyces. If there’s +anythink you require, miss, I ’ope you’ll mention it. +There is not a commodious assortment in Barbury Green, but we can always +send the pony to Woodmucket in case of urgency. Our paying guest +last summer was a Mrs. Pollock, and she was by way of having sudden +fancies. Young and unmarried though you are, miss, I think you +will tyke my meaning without my speaking plyner? Well, at six +o’clock of a rainy afternoon, she was seized with an unaccountable +desire for vegetable marrows, and Mr. ’Eaven put the pony in the +cart and went to Woodmucket for them, which is a great advantage to +be so near a town and yet ’ave the quietude.”</p> +<p>Mr. Heaven is merged, like Mr. Jellyby, in the more shining qualities +of his wife. A line of description is too long for him. +Indeed, I can think of no single word brief enough, at least in English. +The Latin “nil” will do, since no language is rich in words +of less than three letters. He is nice, kind, bald, timid, thin, +and so colourless that he can scarcely be discerned save in a strong +light. When Mrs. Heaven goes out into the orchard in search of +him, I can hardly help calling from my window, “Bear a trifle +to the right, Mrs. Heaven—now to the left—just in front +of you now—if you put out your hands you will touch him.”</p> +<p>Phoebe, aged seventeen, is the daughter of the house. She is +virtuous, industrious, conscientious, and singularly destitute of physical +charm. She is more than plain; she looks as if she had been planned +without any definite purpose in view, made of the wrong materials, been +badly put together, and never properly finished off; but “plain” +after all is a relative word. Many a plain girl has been married +for her beauty; and now and then a beauty, falling under a cold eye, +has been thought plain.</p> +<p>Phoebe has her compensations, for she is beloved by, and reciprocates +the passion of, the Woodmancote carrier, Woodmucket being the English +manner of pronouncing the place of his abode. If he “carries” +as energetically for the great public as he fetches for Phoebe, then +he must be a rising and a prosperous man. He brings her daily, +wild strawberries, cherries, birds’ nests, peacock feathers, sea-shells, +green hazel-nuts, samples of hens’ food, or bouquets of wilted +field flowers tied together tightly and held with a large, moist, loving +hand. He has fine curly hair of sandy hue, which forms an aureole +on his brow, and a reddish beard, which makes another inverted aureole +to match, round his chin. One cannot look at him, especially when +the sun shines through him, without thinking how lovely he would be +if stuffed and set on wheels, with a little string to drag him about.</p> +<p>Phoebe confided to me that she was on the eve of loving the postman +when the carrier came across her horizon.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t do to be too hysty, does it, miss?” +she asked me as we were weeding the onion bed. “I was to +give the postman his answer on the Monday night, and it was on the Monday +morning that Mr. Gladwish made his first trip here as carrier. +I may say I never wyvered from that moment, and no more did he. +When I think how near I came to promising the postman it gives me a +turn.” (I can understand that, for I once met the man I +nearly promised years before to marry, and we both experienced such +a sense of relief at being free instead of bound that we came near falling +in love for sheer joy.)</p> +<p>The last and most important member of the household is the Square +Baby. His name is Albert Edward, and he is really five years old +and no baby at all; but his appearance on this planet was in the nature +of a complete surprise to all parties concerned, and he is spoiled accordingly. +He has a square head and jaw, square shoulders, square hands and feet. +He is red and white and solid and stolid and slow-witted, as the young +of his class commonly are, and will make a bulwark of the nation in +course of time, I should think; for England has to produce a few thousand +such square babies every year for use in the colonies and in the standing +army. Albert Edward has already a military gait, and when he has +acquired a habit of obedience at all comparable with his power of command, +he will be able to take up the white man’s burden with distinguished +success. Meantime I can never look at him without marvelling how +the English climate can transmute bacon and eggs, tea and the solid +household loaf into such radiant roses and lilies as bloom upon his +cheeks and lips.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>July 8th.</p> +<p>Thornycroft is by way of being a small poultry farm.</p> +<p>In reaching it from Barbury Green, you take the first left-hand road, +go till you drop, and there you are.</p> +<p>It reminds me of my “grandmother’s farm at Older.” +Did you know the song when you were a child?—</p> +<blockquote><p>My grandmother had a very fine farm<br /> +‘Way down in the fields of Older.<br /> +With a cluck-cluck here,<br /> +And a cluck-cluck there,<br /> +Here and there a cluck-cluck,<br /> +Cluck-cluck here and there,<br /> +Down in the fields at Older.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It goes on for ever by the simple subterfuge of changing a few words +in each verse.</p> +<blockquote><p>My grandmother had a very fine farm<br /> +‘Way down in the fields of Older.<br /> +With a quack-quack here,<br /> +And a quack-quack there,<br /> +Here and there a quack-quack,<br /> +Quack-quack here and there,<br /> +Down in the fields at Older.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is followed by the gobble-gobble, moo-moo, baa-baa, etc., as +long as the laureate’s imagination and the infant’s breath +hold good. The tune is pretty, and I do not know, or did not, +when I was young, a more fascinating lyric.</p> +<p>Thornycroft House must have belonged to a country gentleman once +upon a time, or to more than one; men who built on a bit here and there +once in a hundred years, until finally we have this charmingly irregular +and dilapidated whole. You go up three steps into Mrs. Heaven’s +room, down two into mine, while Phoebe’s is up in a sort of turret +with long, narrow lattices opening into the creepers. There are +crooked little stair-cases, passages that branch off into other passages +and lead nowhere in particular; I can’t think of a better house +in which to play hide and seek on a wet day. In front, what was +once, doubtless, a green, is cut up into greens; to wit, a vegetable +garden, where the onions, turnips, and potatoes grow cosily up to the +very door-sill; the utilitarian aspect of it all being varied by some +scarlet-runners and a scattering of poppies on either side of the path.</p> +<p>The Belgian hares have their habitation in a corner fifty feet distant; +one large enclosure for poultry lies just outside the sweetbrier hedge; +the others, with all the houses and coops, are in the meadow at the +back, where also our tumbler pigeons are kept.</p> +<p>Phoebe attends to the poultry; it is her department. Mr. Heaven +has neither the force nor the <i>finesse</i> required, and the gentle +reader who thinks these qualities unneeded in so humble a calling has +only to spend a few days at Thornycroft to be convinced. Mrs. +Heaven would be of use, but she is dressing the Square Baby in the morning +and putting him to bed at night just at the hours when the feathered +young things are undergoing the same operation.</p> +<p>A Goose Girl, like a poet, is sometimes born, sometimes otherwise. +I am of the born variety. No training was necessary; I put my +head on my pillow as a complicated product of modern civilisation on +a Tuesday night, and on a Wednesday morning I awoke as a Goose Girl.</p> +<p>My destiny slumbered during the day, but at eight o’clock I +heard a terrific squawking in the direction of the duck-ponds, and, +aimlessly drifting in that direction, I came upon Phoebe trying to induce +ducks and drakes, geese and ganders, to retire for the night. +They have to be driven into enclosures behind fences of wire netting, +fastened into little rat-proof boxes, or shut into separate coops, so +as to be safe from their natural enemies, the rats and foxes; which, +obeying, I suppose, the law of supply and demand, abound in this neighbourhood. +The old ganders are allowed their liberty, being of such age, discretion, +sagacity, and pugnacity that they can be trusted to fight their own +battles.</p> +<p>The intelligence of hens, though modest, is of such an order that +it prompts them to go to bed at a virtuous hour of their own accord; +but ducks and geese have to be materially assisted, or I believe they +would roam till morning. Never did small boy detest and resist +being carried off to his nursery as these dullards, young and old, detest +and resist being driven to theirs. Whether they suffer from insomnia, +or nightmare, or whether they simply prefer the sweet air of liberty +(and death) to the odour of captivity and the coop, I have no means +of knowing.</p> +<p>Phoebe stood by one of the duck-ponds, a long pole in her hand, and +a helpless expression in that doughlike countenance of hers, where aimless +contours and features unite to make a kind of facial blur. (What +does the carrier see in it?) The pole was not long enough to reach +the ducks, and Phoebe’s method lacked spirit and adroitness, so +that it was natural, perhaps, that they refused to leave the water, +the evening being warm, with an uncommon fine sunset.</p> +<p>I saw the situation at once and ran to meet it with a glow of interest +and anticipation. If there is anything in the world I enjoy, it +is making somebody do something that he doesn’t want to do; and +if, when victory perches upon my banner, the somebody can be brought +to say that he ought to have done it without my making him, that adds +the unforgettable touch to pleasure, though seldom, alas! does it happen. +Then ensued the delightful and stimulating hour that has now become +a feature of the day; an hour in which the remembrance of the table-d’hôte +dinner at the Hydro, going on at identically the same time, only stirs +me to a keener joy and gratitude.</p> +<p>The ducks swim round in circles, hide under the willows, and attempt +to creep into the rat-holes in the banks, a stupidity so crass that +it merits instant death, which it somehow always escapes. Then +they come out in couples and waddle under the wrong fence into the lower +meadow, fly madly under the tool-house, pitch blindly in with the sitting +hens, and out again in short order, all the time quacking and squawking, +honking and hissing like a bewildered orchestra. By dint of splashing +the water with poles, throwing pebbles, beating the shrubs at the pond’s +edges, “shooing” frantically with our skirts, crawling beneath +bars to head them off, and prodding them from under bushes to urge them +on, we finally get the older ones out of the water and the younger ones +into some sort of relation to their various retreats; but, owing to +their lack of geography, hatred of home, and general recalcitrancy, +they none of them turn up in the right place and have to be sorted out. +We uncover the top of the little house, or the enclosure as it may be, +or reach in at the door, and, seizing the struggling victim, drag him +forth and take him where he should have had the wit to go in the first +instance. The weak ones get in with the strong and are in danger +of being trampled; two May goslings that look almost full-grown have +run into a house with a brood of ducklings a week old. There are +twenty-seven crowded into one coop, five in another, nineteen in another; +the gosling with one leg has to come out, and the duckling threatened +with the gapes; their place is with the “invaleeds,” as +Phoebe calls them, but they never learn the location of the hospital, +nor have the slightest scruple about spreading contagious diseases.</p> +<p>Finally, when we have separated and sorted exhaustively, an operation +in which Phoebe shows a delicacy of discrimination and a fearlessness +of attack amounting to genius, we count the entire number and find several +missing. Searching for their animate or inanimate bodies, we “scoop” +one from under the tool-house, chance upon two more who are being harried +and pecked by the big geese in the lower meadow, and discover one sailing +by himself in solitary splendour in the middle of the deserted pond, +a look of evil triumph in his bead-like eye. Still we lack one +young duckling, and he at length is found dead by the hedge. A +rat has evidently seized him and choked him at a single throttle, but +in such haste that he has not had time to carry away the tiny body.</p> +<p>“Poor think!” says Phoebe tearfully; “it looks +as if it was ’it with some kind of a wepping. I don’t +know whatever to do with the rats, they’re gettin’ that +fearocious!”</p> +<p>Before I was admitted into daily contact with the living goose (my +previous intercourse with him having been carried on when gravy and +stuffing obscured his true personality), I thought him a very Dreyfus +among fowls, a sorely slandered bird, to whom justice had never been +done; for even the gentle Darwin is hard upon him. My opinion +is undergoing some slight modifications, but I withhold judgment at +present, hoping that some of the follies, faults, vagaries, and limitations +that I observe in Phoebe’s geese may be due to Phoebe’s +educational methods, which were, before my advent, those of the darkest +ages.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>July 9th.</p> +<p>By the time the ducks and geese are incarcerated for the night, the +reasonable, sensible, practical-minded hens—especially those whose +mentality is increased and whose virtue is heightened by the responsibilities +of motherhood—have gone into their own particular rat-proof boxes, +where they are waiting in a semi-somnolent state to have the wire doors +closed, the bricks set against them, and the bits of sacking flung over +the tops to keep out the draught. We have a great many young families, +both ducklings and chicks, but we have no duck mothers at present. +The variety of bird which Phoebe seems to have bred during the past +year may be called the New Duck, with certain radical ideas about woman’s +sphere. What will happen to Thornycroft if we develop a New Hen +and a New Cow, my imagination fails to conceive. There does not +seem to be the slightest danger for the moment, however, and our hens +lay and sit and sit and lay as if laying and sitting were the twin purposes +of life.</p> +<p>The nature of the hen seems to broaden with the duties of maternity, +but I think myself that we presume a little upon her amiability and +natural motherliness. It is one thing to desire a family of one’s +own, to lay eggs with that idea in view, to sit upon them three long +weeks and hatch out and bring up a nice brood of chicks. It must +be quite another to have one’s eggs abstracted day by day and +eaten by a callous public, the nest filled with deceitful substitutes, +and at the end of a dull and weary period of hatching to bring into +the world another person’s children—children, too, of the +wrong size, the wrong kind of bills and feet, and, still more subtle +grievance, the wrong kind of instincts, leading them to a dangerous +aquatic career, one which the mother may not enter to guide, guard, +and teach; one on the brink of which she must ever stand, uttering dryshod +warnings which are never heeded. They grow used to this strange +order of things after a bit, it is true, and are less anxious and excited. +When the duck-brood returns safely again and again from what the hen-mother +thinks will prove a watery grave, she becomes accustomed to the situation, +I suppose. I find that at night she stands by the pond for what +she considers a decent, self-respecting length of time, calling the +ducklings out of the water; then, if they refuse to come, the mother +goes off to bed and leaves them to Providence, or Phoebe.</p> +<p>The brown hen that we have named Cornelia is the best mother, the +one who waits longest and most patiently for the web-footed Gracchi +to finish their swim.</p> +<p>When a chick is taken out of the incubytor (as Phoebe calls it) and +refused by all the other hens, Cornelia generally accepts it, though +she had twelve of her own when we began using her as an orphan asylum. +“Wings are made to stretch,” she seems to say cheerfully, +and with a kind glance of her round eye she welcomes the wanderer and +the outcast. She even tended for a time the offspring of an absent-minded, +light-headed pheasant who flew over a four-foot wall and left her young +behind her to starve; it was not a New Pheasant, either; for the most +conservative and old-fashioned of her tribe occasionally commits domestic +solecisms of this sort.</p> +<p>There is no telling when, where, or how the maternal instinct will +assert itself. Among our Thornycroft cats is a certain Mrs. Greyskin. +She had not been seen for many days, and Mrs. Heaven concluded that +she had hidden herself somewhere with a family of kittens; but as the +supply of that article with us more than equals the demand, we had not +searched for her with especial zeal.</p> +<p>The other day Mrs. Greyskin appeared at the dairy door, and when +she had been fed Phoebe and I followed her stealthily, from a distance. +She walked slowly about as if her mind were quite free from harassing +care, and finally approached a deserted cow-house where there was a +great mound of straw. At this moment she caught sight of us and +turned in another direction to throw us off the scent. We persevered +in our intention of going into her probable retreat, and were cautiously +looking for some sign of life in the haymow, when we heard a soft cackle +and a ruffling of plumage. Coming closer to the sound we saw a +black hen brooding a nest, her bright bead eyes turning nervously from +side to side; and, coaxed out from her protecting wings by youthful +curiosity, came four kittens, eyes wide open, warm, happy, ready for +sport!</p> +<p>The sight was irresistible, and Phoebe ran for Mr. and Mrs. Heaven +and the Square Baby. Mother Hen was not to be embarrassed or daunted, +even if her most sacred feelings were regarded in the light of a cheap +entertainment. She held her ground while one of the kits slid +up and down her glossy back, and two others, more timid, crept underneath +her breast, only daring to put out their pink noses! We retired +then for very shame and met Mrs. Greyskin in the doorway. This +should have thickened the plot, but there is apparently no rivalry nor +animosity between the co-mothers. We watch them every day now, +through a window in the roof. Mother Greyskin visits the kittens +frequently, lies down beside the home nest, and gives them their dinner. +While this is going on Mother Blackwing goes modestly away for a bite, +a sup, and a little exercise, returning to the kittens when the cat +leaves them. It is pretty to see her settle down over the four, +fat, furry dumplings, and they seem to know no difference in warmth +or comfort, whichever mother is brooding them; while, as their eyes +have been open for a week, it can no longer be called a blind error +on their part.</p> +<p>When we have closed all our small hen-nurseries for the night, there +is still the large house inhabited by the thirty-two full-grown chickens +which Phoebe calls the broilers. I cannot endure the term, and +will not use it. “Now for the April chicks,” I say +every evening.</p> +<p>“Do you mean the broilers?” asks Phoebe.</p> +<p>“I mean the big April chicks,” say I.</p> +<p>“Yes, them are the broilers,” says she.</p> +<p>But is it not disagreeable enough to be a broiler when one’s +time comes, without having the gridiron waved in one’s face for +weeks beforehand?</p> +<p>The April chicks are all lively and desirous of seeing the world +as thoroughly as possible before going to roost or broil. As a +general thing, we find in the large house sixteen young fowls of the +contemplative, flavourless, resigned-to-the-inevitable variety; three +more (the same three every night) perch on the roof and are driven down; +four (always the same four) cling to the edge of the open door, waiting +to fly off, but not in, when you attempt to close it; nine huddle together +on a place in the grass about forty feet distant, where a small coop +formerly stood in the prehistoric ages. This small coop was one +in which they lodged for a fortnight when they were younger, and when +those absolutely indelible impressions are formed of which we read in +educational maxims. It was taken away long since, but the nine +loyal (or stupid) Casabiancas cling to the sacred spot where its foundations +rested; they accordingly have to be caught and deposited bodily in the +house, and this requires strategy, as they note our approach from a +considerable distance.</p> +<p>Finally all are housed but two, the little white cock and the black +pullet, who are still impish and of a wandering mind. Though headed +off in every direction, they fly into the hedges and hide in the underbrush. +We beat the hedge on the other side, but with no avail. We dive +into the thicket of wild roses, sweetbrier, and thistles on our hands +and knees, coming out with tangled hair, scratched noses, and no hens. +Then, when all has been done that human ingenuity can suggest, Phoebe +goes to her late supper and I do sentry-work. I stroll to a safe +distance, and, sitting on one of the rat-proof boxes, watch the bushes +with an eagle eye. Five minutes go by, ten, fifteen; and then +out steps the white cock, stealthily tiptoeing toward the home into +which he refused to go at our instigation. In a moment out creeps +the obstinate little beast of a black pullet from the opposite clump. +The wayward pair meet at their own door, which I have left open a few +inches. When all is still I walk gently down the field, and, warned +by previous experiences, approach the house from behind. I draw +the door to softly and quickly; but not so quickly that the evil-minded +and suspicious black pullet hasn’t time to spring out, with a +make-believe squawk of fright—that induces three other blameless +chickens to fly down from their perches and set the whole flock in a +flutter. Then I fall from grace and call her a Broiler; and when, +after some minutes of hot pursuit, I catch her by falling over her in +the corner by the goose-pen, I address her as a fat, juicy Broiler with +parsley butter and a bit of bacon.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>July 10th.</p> +<p>At ten thirty or so in the morning the cackling begins. I wonder +exactly what it means! Have the forest-lovers who listen so respectfully +to, and interpret so exquisitely, the notes of birds—have none +of them made psychological investigations of the hen cackle? Can +it be simple elation? One could believe that of the first few +eggs, but a hen who has laid two or three hundred can hardly feel the +same exuberant pride and joy daily. Can it be the excitement incident +to successful achievement? Hardly, because the task is so extremely +simple. Eggs are more or less alike; a little larger or smaller, +a trifle whiter or browner; and almost sure to be quite right as to +details; that is, the big end never gets confused with the little end, +they are always ovoid and never spherical, and the yolk is always inside +of the white. As for a soft-shelled egg, it is so rare an occurrence +that the fear of laying one could not set the whole race of hens in +a panic; so there really cannot be any intellectual or emotional agitation +in producing a thing that might be made by a machine. Can it be +simply “fussiness”; since the people who have the least +to do commonly make the most flutter about doing it?</p> +<p>Perhaps it is merely conversation. “<i>Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut</i>-DAH<i>cut</i>! +. . . I have finished my strictly fresh egg, have you laid yours? +Make haste, then, for the cock has found a gap in the wire-fence and +wants us to wander in the strawberry-bed. . . . Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut-DAH<i>cut</i> +. . . Every moment is precious, for the Goose Girl will find us, when +she gathers the strawberries for her luncheon . . . Cut-cut-cut-cut! +On the way out we can find sweet places to steal nests . . . Cut-cut-cut! +. . . I am so glad I am not sitting this heavenly morning; it <i>is</i> +a dull life.</p> +<p>A Lancashire poultryman drifted into Barbury Green yesterday. +He is an old acquaintance of Mr. Heaven, and spent the night and part +of the next day at Thornycroft Farm. He possessed a deal of fowl +philosophy, and tells many a good hen story, which, like fish stories, +draw rather largely on the credulity of the audience. We were +sitting in the rickyard talking comfortably about laying and cackling +and kindred matters when he took his pipe from his mouth and told us +the following tale—not a bad one if you can translate the dialect:—</p> +<p>‘Aw were once towd as, if yo’ could only get th’ +hen’s egg away afooar she hed sin it, th’ hen ‘ud +think it hed med a mistek an’ sit deawn ageean an’ lay another.</p> +<p>“An’ it seemed to me it were a varra sensible way o’ +lukkin’ at it. Sooa aw set to wark to mek a nest as ’ud +tek a rise eawt o’ th’ hens. An’ aw dud it too. +Aw med a nest wi’ a fause bottom, th’ idea bein’ as +when a hen hed laid, th’ egg ’ud drop through into a box +underneyth.</p> +<p>“Aw felt varra preawd o’ that nest, too, aw con tell +yo’, an’ aw remember aw felt quite excited when aw see an +awd black Minorca, th’ best layer as aw hed, gooa an’ settle +hersel deawn i’ th’ nest an’ get ready for wark. +Th’ hen seemed quite comfortable enough, aw were glad to see, +an’ geet through th’ operation beawt ony seemin’ trouble.</p> +<p>“Well, aw darsay yo’ know heaw a hen carries on as soon +as it’s laid a egg. It starts “chuckin’” +away like a showman’s racket, an’ after tekkin’ a +good Ink at th’ egg to see whether it’s a big ’un +or a little ’un, gooas eawt an’ tells all t’other +hens abeawt it.</p> +<p>“Neaw, this black Minorca, as aw sed, were a owdish bird, an’ +maybe knew mooar than aw thowt. Happen it hed laid on a nest wi’ +a fause bottom afooar, an’ were up to th’ trick, but whether +or not, aw never see a hen luk mooar disgusted i’ mi life when +it lukked i’ th’ nest an’ see as it hed hed all that +trouble fer nowt.</p> +<p>“It woked reawnd th’ nest as if it couldn’t believe +its own eyes.</p> +<p>“But it dudn’t do as aw expected. Aw expected as +it ’ud sit deawn ageean an’ lay another.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Varra like it laid away in a spot wheear it could hev summat +to luk at when it hed done wark for th’ day.</p> +<p>“Sooa aw lost mi best layer through mi actin’, an’ +aw’ve never invented owt sen.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>There is nothing on earth so feminine as a hen—not 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 <i>petite comédie humaine</i>, 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.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p>July 12th.</p> +<p>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 families—it would not be profitable; +and the older mother, having been tried and found faithful over seven, +has been given the other nine and accepted them. What of the bereft +one? She is miserable and stands about moping and forlorn, but +it is no use fighting against the inevitable; hens’ hearts must +obey the same laws that govern the rotation of crops. Catherine +of Aragon feels her lot a bitter one just now, but in time she will +succumb, and lay, which is more to the point.</p> +<p>We have had a very busy evening, beginning with the rats’ supper—delicate +sandwiches of bread-and-butter spread with Paris green.</p> +<p>We have a new brood of seventeen ducklings just hatched this afternoon. +When we came to the nest the yellow and brown bunches of down and fluff +were peeping out from under the hen’s wings in the prettiest fashion +in the world.</p> +<p>“It’s a noble hen!” I said to Phoebe.</p> +<p>“She ain’t so nowble as she looks,” Phoebe answered +grimly. “It was another ’en that brooded these eggs +for near on three weeks and then this big one come along with a fancy +she’d like a family ’erself if she could steal one without +too much trouble; so she drove the rightful ’en off the nest, +finished up the last few days, and ’ere she is in possession of +the ducklings!”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you take them away from her and give them +back to the first hen, who did most of the work?” I asked, with +some spirit.</p> +<p>“Like as not she wouldn’t tyke them now,” said +Phoebe, as she lifted the hen off the broken egg-shells and moved her +gently into a clean box, on a bed of fresh hay. We put food and +drink within reach of the family, and very proud and handsome that highway +robber of a hen looked, as she stretched her wings over the seventeen +easily-earned ducklings.</p> +<p>Going back to the old nesting-box, I found one egg forgotten among +the shells. It was still warm, and I took it up to run across +the field with it to Phoebe. It was heavy, and the carrying of +it was a queer sensation, inasmuch as it squirmed and “yipped” +vociferously in transit, threatening so unmistakably to hatch in my +hand that I was decidedly nervous. The intrepid little youngster +burst his shell as he touched Phoebe’s apron, and has become the +strongest and handsomest of the brood.</p> +<p>All this tending of downy young things, this feeding and putting +to bed, this petting and nursing and rearing, is such pretty, comforting +woman’s work. I am sure Phoebe will make a better wife to +the carrier for having been a poultry-maid, and though good enough for +most practical purposes when I came here, I am an infinitely better +woman now. I am afraid I was not particularly nice the last few +days at the Hydro. Such a lot of dull, prosy, inquisitive, bothering +old tabbies! Aunt Margaret furnishing imaginary symptoms enough +to keep a fond husband and two trained nurses distracted; a man I had +never encouraged in my life coming to stay in the neighbourhood and +turning up daily for rejection; another man taking rooms at the very +hotel with the avowed purpose of making my life a burden; and on the +heels of both, a widow of thirty-five in full chase! Small wonder +I thought it more dignified to retire than to compete, and so I did.</p> +<p>I need not, however, have cut the threads that bound me to Oxenbridge +with such particularly sharp scissors, nor given them such a vicious +snap; for, so far as I can observe, the little world of which I imagined +myself the sun continues to revolve, and, probably, about some other +centre. I can well imagine who has taken up that delightful but +somewhat exposed and responsible position—it would be just like +her!</p> +<p>I am perfectly happy where I am; it is not that; but it seems so +strange that they can be perfectly happy without me, after all that +they—after all that was said on the subject not many days ago. +Nothing turns out as one expects. There have been no hot pursuits, +no rewards offered, no bills posted, no printed placards issued describing +the beauty and charms of a young person who supposed herself the cynosure +of every eye. Heigh-ho! What does it matter, after all? +One can always be a Goose Girl!</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>I wonder if the hen mother is quite, quite satisfied with her ducklings! +Do you suppose the fact of hatching and brooding them breaks down all +the sense of difference? Does she not sometimes reflect that if +her children were the ordinary sort, and not these changelings, she +would be enjoying certain pretty little attentions dear to a mother’s +heart? The chicks would be pecking the food off her broad beak +with their tiny ones, and jumping on her back to slide down her glossy +feathers. They would be far nicer to cuddle, too, so small and +graceful and light; the changelings are a trifle solid and brawny. +And personally, just as a matter of taste, would she not prefer wee, +round, glancing heads, and pointed beaks, peeping from under her wings, +to these teaspoon-shaped things larger than her own? I wonder!</p> +<p>We are training fourteen large young chickens to sit on the perches +in their new house, instead of huddling together on the floor as has +been their habit, because we discover rat-holes under the wire flooring +occasionally, and fear that toes may be bitten. At nine o’clock +Phoebe and I lift the chickens one by one, and, as it were, glue them +to their perches, squawking. Three nights have we gone patiently +through with this performance, but they have not learned the lesson. +The ducks and geese are, however, greatly improved by the application +of advanced educational methods, and the <i>régime</i> of perfect +order and system instituted by Me begins to show results.</p> +<p>There is no more violent splashing and pebbling, racing, chasing, +separating. The pole, indeed, still has to be produced, but at +the first majestic wave of my hand they scuttle toward the shore. +The geese turn to the right, cross the rickyard, and go to their pen; +the May ducks turn to the left for their coops, the June ducks follow +the hens to the top meadow, and even the idiot gosling has an inspiration +now and then and stumbles on his own habitation.</p> +<p>Mrs. Heaven has no reverence for the principles of Comenius, Pestalozzi, +or Herbert Spencer as applied to poultry, and when the ducks and geese +came out of the pond badly the other night and went waddling and tumbling +and hissing all over creation, did not approve of my sending them back +into the pond to start afresh.</p> +<p>“I consider it a great waste of time, of good time, miss,” +she said; “and, after all, do you consider that educated poultry +will be any better eating, or that it will lay more than one egg a day, +miss?”</p> +<p>I have given the matter some attention, and I fear Mrs. Heaven is +right. A duck, a goose, or a hen in which I have developed a larger +brain, implanted a sense of duty, or instilled an idea of self-government, +is likely, on the whole, to be leaner, not fatter. There is nothing +like obeying the voice of conscience for taking the flesh off one’s +bones; and, speaking of conscience, Phoebe, whose metaphysics are of +the farm farmy, says that hers “felt like a hunlaid hegg for dyes” +after she had jilted the postman.</p> +<p>As to the eggs, I am sure the birds will go on laying one a day for +’tis their nature to. Whether the product of the intelligent, +conscious, logical fowl, will be as rich in quality as that of the uneducated +and barbaric bird, I cannot say; but it ought at least to be equal to +the Denmark egg eaten now by all Londoners; and if, perchance, left +uneaten, it is certain to be a very superior wife and mother.</p> +<p>While we are discussing the subject of educating poultry, I confess +that the case of Cannibal Ann gives me much anxiety. Twice in +her short career has she been under suspicion of eating her own eggs, +but Phoebe has never succeeded in catching her <i>in flagrante delicto</i>. +That eminent detective service was reserved for me, and I have been +haunted by the picture ever since. It is an awful sight to witness +a hen gulp her own newly-laid fresh egg, yolk, white, shell, and all; +to realise that you have fed, sheltered, chased, and occasionally run +in, a being possessed of no moral sense, a being likely to set a bad +example, inculcate vicious habits among her innocent sisters, and lower +the standard of an entire poultry-yard. <i>The Young Poultry Keeper’s +Friend</i> gives us no advice on this topic, and we do not know whether +to treat Cannibal Ann as the victim of a disease, or as a confirmed +criminal; whether to administer remedies or cut her off in the flower +of her youth.</p> +<p>We have had a sad scene to-night. A chick has been ailing all +day, and when we shut up the brood we found him dead in a corner.</p> +<p>Phoebe put him on the ground while she busied herself about the coop. +The other chicks came out and walked about the dead one again and again, +eyeing him curiously.</p> +<p>“Poor little chap!” said Phoebe. “’E’s +never ’ad a mother! ’E was an incubytor chicken, and +wherever I took ’im ’e was picked at. There was somethink +wrong with ’im; ’e never was a fyvorite!”</p> +<p>I put the fluffy body into a hole in the turf, and strewed a handful +of grass over him. “Sad little epitaph!” I thought. +“He never was a fyvorite!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p>July 13th.</p> +<p>I like to watch the Belgian hares eating their trifolium or pea-pods +or grass; graceful, gentle things they are, crowding about Mr. Heaven, +and standing prettily, not greedily, on their hind legs, to reach for +the clover, their delicate nostrils and whiskers all a-quiver with excitement.</p> +<p>As I look out of my window in the dusk I can see one of the mothers +galloping across the enclosure, the soft white lining of her tail acting +as a beacon-light to the eight infant hares following her, a quaint +procession of eight white spots in it glancing line. In the darkest +night those baby creatures could follow their mother through grass or +hedge or thicket, and she would need no warning note to show them where +to flee in case of danger. “All you have to do is to follow +the white night-light that I keep in the lining of my tail,” she +says, when she is giving her first maternal lectures; and it seems a +beneficent provision of Nature. To be sure, Mr. Heaven took his +gun and went out to shoot wild rabbits to-day, and I noted that he marked +them by those same self-betraying tails, as they scuttled toward their +holes or leaped toward the protecting cover of the hedge; so it does +not appear whether Nature is on the side of the farmer or the rabbit +. . .</p> +<p>There is as much comedy and as much tragedy in poultry life as anywhere, +and already I see rifts within lutes. We have in a cage a French +gentleman partridge married to a Hungarian lady of defective sight. +He paces back and forth in the pen restlessly, anything but content +with the domestic fireside. One can see plainly that he is devoted +to the Boulevards, and that if left to his own inclinations he would +never have chosen any spouse but a thorough Parisienne.</p> +<p>The Hungarian lady is blind of one eye, from some stray shot, I suppose. +She is melancholy at all times, and occasionally goes so far as to beat +her head against the wire netting. If liberated, Mr. Heaven says +that her blindness would only expose her to death at the hands of the +first sportsman, and it always seems to me as if she knows this, and +is ever trying to decide whether a loveless marriage is any better than +the tomb.</p> +<p>Then, again, the great, grey gander is, for some mysterious reason, +out of favour with the entire family. He is a noble and amiable +bird, by far the best all-round character in the flock, for dignity +of mien and large-minded common-sense. What is the treatment vouchsafed +to this blameless husband and father? One that puts anybody out +of sorts with virtue and its scant rewards. To begin with, the +others will not allow him to go into the pond. There is an organised +cabal against it, and he sits solitary on the bank, calm and resigned, +but, naturally, a trifle hurt. His favourite retreat is a tiny +sort of island on the edge of the pool under the alders, where with +his bent head, and red-rimmed philosophic eyes he regards his own breast +and dreams of happier days. When the others walk into the country +twenty-three of them keep together, and Burd Alane (as I have named +him from the old ballad) walks by himself. The lack of harmony +is so evident here, and the slight so intentional and direct, that it +almost moves me to tears. The others walk soberly, always in couples, +but even Burd Alane’s rightful spouse is on the side of the majority, +and avoids her consort.</p> +<p>What is the nature of his offence? There can be no connubial +jealousies, I judge, as geese are strictly monogamous, and having chosen +a partner of their joys and sorrows they cleave to each other until +death or some other inexorable circumstance does them part. If +they are ever mistaken in their choice, and think they might have done +better, the world is none the wiser. Burd Alane looks in good +condition, but Phoebe thinks he is not quite himself, and that some +day when he is in greater strength he will turn on his foes and rend +them, regaining thus his lost prestige, for formerly he was king of +the flock.</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>Phoebe has not a vestige of sentiment. She just asked me if +I would have a duckling or a gosling for dinner; that there were two +quite ready—the brown and yellow duckling, that is the last to +leave the water at night, and the white gosling that never knows his +own ’ouse. Which would I ’ave, and would I ’ave +it with sage and onion?</p> +<p>Now, had I found a duckling on the table at dinner I should have +eaten it without thinking at all, or with the thought that it had come +from Barbury Green. But eat a duckling that I have stoned out +of the pond, pursued up the bank, chased behind the wire netting, caught, +screaming, in a corner, and carried struggling to his bed? Feed +upon an idiot gosling that I have found in nine different coops on nine +successive nights—in with the newly-hatched chicks, the half-grown +pullets, the setting hen, the “invaleed goose,” the drake +with the gapes, the old ducks in the pen?—Eat a gosling that I +have caught and put in with his brothers and sisters (whom he never +recognises) so frequently and regularly that I am familiar with every +joint in his body?</p> +<p>In the first place, with my own small bump of locality and lack of +geography, I would never willingly consume a creature who might, by +some strange process of assimilation, make me worse in this respect; +in the second place, I should have to be ravenous indeed to sit down +deliberately and make a meal of an intimate friend, no matter if I had +not a high opinion of his intelligence. I should as soon think +of eating the Square Baby, stuffed with sage and onion and garnished +with green apple-sauce, as the yellow duckling or the idiot gosling.</p> +<p>Mrs. Heaven has just called me into her sitting-room, ostensibly +to ask me to order breakfast, but really for the pleasure of conversation. +Why she should inquire whether I would relish some gammon of bacon with +eggs, when she knows that there has not been, is not now, and never +will be, anything but gammon of bacon with eggs, is more than I can +explain.</p> +<p>“Would you like to see my flowers, miss?” she asks, folding +her plump hands over her white apron. “They are looking +beautiful this morning. I am so fond of potted plants, of plants +in pots. Look at these geraniums! Now, I consider that pink +one a perfect bloom; yes, a perfect bloom. This is a fine red +one, is it not, miss? Especially fine, don’t you think? +The trouble with the red variety is that they’re apt to get “bobby” +and have to be washed regularly; quite bobby they do get indeed, I assure +you. That white one has just gone out of blossom, and it was really +wonderful. You could ’ardly have told it from a paper flower, +miss, not from a white paper flower. My plants are my children +nowadays, since Albert Edward is my only care. I have been the +mother of eleven children, miss, all of them living, so far as I know; +I know nothing to the contrary. I ’ope you are not wearying +of this solitary place, miss? It will grow upon you, I am sure, +as it did upon Mrs. Pollock, with all her peculiar fancies, and as it +’as grown upon us.—We formerly had a butcher’s shop +in Buffington, and it was naturally a great responsibility. Mr. +Heaven’s nerves are not strong, and at last he wanted a life of +more quietude, more quietude was what he craved. The life of a +retail butcher is a most exciting and wearying one. Nobody satisfied +with their meat; as if it mattered in a world of change! Everybody +complaining of too much bone or too little fat; nobody wishing tough +chops or cutlets, but always seeking after fine joints, when it’s +against reason and nature that all joints should be juicy and all cutlets +tender; always complaining if livers are not sent with every fowl, always +asking you to remember the trimmin’s, always wanting their beef +well ’ung, and then if you ’ang it a minute too long, it’s +left on your ’ands! I often used to say to Mr. Heaven, yes +many’s the time I’ve said it, that if people would think +more of the great ’ereafter and less about their own little stomachs, +it would be a deal better for them, yes, a deal better, and make it +much more comfortable for the butchers!”</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>Burd Alane has had a good quarter of an hour to-day.</p> +<p>His spouse took a brief promenade with him. To be sure, it +was during an absence of the flock on the other side of the hedge so +that the moral effect of her spasm of wifely loyalty was quite lost +upon them. I strongly suspect that she would not have granted +anything but a secret interview. What a petty, weak, ignoble character! +I really don’t like to think so badly of any fellow-creature as +I am forced to think of that politic, time-serving, pusillanimous goose. +I believe she laid the egg that produced the idiot gosling!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>Here follows the true story of Sir Muscovy Drake, the Lady Blanche, +and Miss Malardina Crippletoes.</p> +<p>Phoebe’s flock consisted at first mostly of Brown Mallards, +but a friend gave her a sitting of eggs warranted to produce a most +beautiful variety of white ducks. They were hatched in due time, +but proved hard to raise, till at length there was only one survivor, +of such uncommon grace and beauty that we called her the Lady Blanche. +Presently a neighbour sold Phoebe his favourite Muscovy drake, and these +two splendid creatures by “natural selection” disdained +to notice the rest of the flock, but forming a close friendship, wandered +in the pleasant paths of duckdom together, swimming and eating quite +apart from the others.</p> +<p>In the brown flock there was one unfortunate, misshapen from the +egg, quite lame, and with no smoothness of plumage; but on that very +account, apparently, or because she was too weak to resist them, the +others treated her cruelly, biting her and pushing her away from the +food.</p> +<p>One day it happened that the two ducks—Sir Muscovy and Lady +Blanche—had come up from the water before the others, and having +taken their repast were sitting together under the shade of a flowering +currant-bush, when they chanced to see poor Miss Crippletoes very badly +used and crowded away from the dish. Sir Muscovy rose to his feet; +a few rapid words seemed to pass between him and his mate, and then +he fell upon the other drake and the heartless minions who had persecuted +the helpless one, drove them far away out of sight, and, returning, +went to the corner where the victim was cowering, her face to the wall. +He seemed to whisper to her, or in some way to convey to her a sense +of protection; for after a few moments she tremblingly went with him +to the dish, and hurriedly ate her dinner while he stood by, repulsing +the advances of the few brown ducks who remained near and seemed inclined +to attack her.</p> +<p>When she had eaten enough Lady Blanche joined them, and they went +down the hill together to their favourite swimming-place. After +that Miss Crippletoes always followed a little behind her protectors, +and thus shielded and fed she grew stronger and well-feathered, though +she was always smaller than she should have been and had a lowly manner, +keeping a few steps in the rear of her superiors and sitting at some +distance from their noon resting-place.</p> +<p>Phoebe noticed after a while that Lady Blanche was seldom to be seen, +and Sir Muscovy and Miss Crippletoes often came to their meals without +her. The would-be mother refused to inhabit the house Phoebe had +given her, and for a long time the place she had chosen for her sitting +could not be found. At length the Square Baby discovered her in +a most ideal spot. A large boulder had dropped years ago into +the brook that fills our duck-pond; dropped and split in halves with +the two smooth walls leaning away from each other. A grassy bank +towered behind, and on either side of the opening, tall bushes made +a miniature forest where the romantic mother could brood her treasures +while her two guardians enjoyed the water close by her retreat.</p> +<p>All this happened before my coming to Thornycroft Farm, but it was +I who named the hero and heroines of the romance when Phoebe had told +me all the particulars. Yesterday morning I was sitting by my +open window. It was warm, sunny, and still, but in the country +sounds travel far, and I could hear fowl conversation in various parts +of the poultry-yard as well as in all the outlying bits of territory +occupied by our feathered friends. Hens have only three words +and a scream in their language, but ducks, having more thoughts to express, +converse quite fluently, so fluently, in fact, that it reminds me of +dinner at the Hydropathic Hotel. I fancy I have learned to distinguish +seven separate sounds, each varied by degrees of intensity, and with +upward or downward inflections like the Chinese tongue.</p> +<p>In the distance, then, I heard the faint voice of a duck calling +as if breathless and excited. While I wondered what was happening, +I saw Miss Crippletoes struggling up the steep bank above the duck-pond. +It was the quickest way from the water to the house, but difficult for +the little lame webbed feet. When she reached the level grass +sward she sank down a moment, exhausted; but when she could speak again +she cried out, a sharp staccato call, and ran forward.</p> +<p>Instantly she was answered from a distant knoll, where for some reason +Sir Muscovy loved to retire for meditation. The cries grew lower +and softer as the birds approached each other, and they met at the corner +just under my window. Instantly they put their two bills together +and the loud cries changed to confiding murmurs. Evidently some +hurried questions and answers passed between them, and then Sir Muscovy +waddled rapidly by the quickest path, Miss Crippletoes following him +at a slower pace, and both passed out of sight, using their wings to +help their feet down the steep declivity. The next morning, when +I wakened early, my first thought was to look out, and there on the +sunny greensward where they were accustomed to be fed, Sir Muscovy, +Lady Blanche, and their humble maid, Malardina Crippletoes, were scattering +their own breakfast before the bills of twelve beautiful golden balls +of ducklings. The little creatures could never have climbed the +bank, but must have started from their nest at dawn, coming round by +the brook to the level at the foot of the garden, and so by slow degrees +up to the house.</p> +<p>Judging from what I heard and knew of their habits, I am sure the +excitement of the previous morning was occasioned by the hatching of +the eggs, and that Lady Blanche had hastily sent her friend to call +Sir Muscovy, the family remaining together until they could bring the +babies with them and display their beauty to Phoebe and me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p>July 14th.</p> +<p>We are not wholly without the pleasures of the town in Barbury Green. +Once or twice in a summer, late on a Saturday afternoon, a procession +of red and yellow vans drives into a field near the centre of the village. +By the time the vans are unpacked all the children in the community +are surrounding the gate of entrance. There is rifle-shooting, +there is fortune-telling, there are games of pitch and toss, and swings, +and French bagatelle; and, to crown all, a wonderful orchestrion that +goes by steam. The water is boiled for the public’s tea, +and at the same time thrilling strains of melody are flung into the +air. There is at present only one tune in the orchestrion’s +repertory, but it is a very good tune; though after hearing it three +hundred and seven times in a single afternoon, it pursues one, sleeping +and waking, for the next week. Phoebe and I took the Square Baby +and went in to this diversified entertainment. There was a small +crowd of children at the entrance, but as none of them seemed to be +provided with pennies, and I felt in a fairy godmother mood, I offered +them the freedom of the place at my expense.</p> +<p>I never purchased more radiant good-will for less money, but the +combined effect of the well-boiled tea and the boiling orchestrion produced +many village nightmares, so the mothers told me at chapel next morning.</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>I have many friends in Barbury Green, and often have a pleasant chat +with the draper, and the watchmaker, and the chemist.</p> +<p>The last house on the principal street is rather an ugly one, with +especially nice window curtains. As I was taking my daily walk +to the post-office (an entirely unfruitful expedition thus far, as nobody +has taken the pains to write to me) I saw a nursemaid coming out of +the gate, wheeling a baby in a perambulator. She was going placidly +away from the Green when, far in the distance, she espied a man walking +rapidly toward us, a heavy Gladstone bag in one hand. She gazed +fixedly for a moment, her eyes brightening and her cheeks flushing with +pleasure,—whoever it was, it was an unexpected arrival;—then +she retraced her steps and, running up the garden-path, opened the front +door and held an excited colloquy with somebody; a slender somebody +in a nice print gown and neatly-dressed hair, who came to the gate and +peeped beyond the hedge several times, drawing back between peeps with +smiles and heightened colour. She did not run down the road, even +when she had satisfied herself of the identity of the traveller; perhaps +that would not have been good form in an English village, for there +were houses on the opposite side of the way. She waited until +he opened the gate, the nursemaid took the bag and looked discreetly +into the hedge, then the mistress slipped her hand through the traveller’s +arm and walked up the path as if she had nothing else in the world to +wish for. The nurse had a part in the joy, for she lifted the +baby out of the perambulator and showed proudly how much he had grown.</p> +<p>It was a dear little scene, and I, a passer-by, had shared in it +and felt better for it. I think their content was no less because +part of it had enriched my life, for happiness, like mercy, is twice +blessed; it blesses those who are most intimately associated in it, +and it blesses all those who see it, hear it, feel it, touch it, or +breathe the same atmosphere. A laughing, crowing baby in a house, +one cheerful woman singing about her work, a boy whistling at the plough, +a romance just suspected, with its miracle of two hearts melting into +one—the wind’s always in the west when you have any of these +wonder-workers in your neighbourhood.</p> +<p>I have talks too, sometimes, with the old parson, who lives in a +quaint house with “<i>Parva Domus Magna Quies</i>” cut into +the stone over the doorway. He is not a preaching parson, but +a retired one, almost the nicest kind, I often think.</p> +<p>He has been married thirty years, he tells me; thirty years, spent +in the one little house with the bricks painted red and grey alternately, +and the scarlet holly-hocks growing under the windows. I am sure +they have been sweet, true, kind years, and that his heart must be a +quiet, peaceful place just like his house and garden.</p> +<p>“I was only eleven years old when I fell in love with my wife,” +he told me as we sat on the seat under the lime-tree; he puffing cosily +at his pipe, I plaiting grasses for a hatband.</p> +<p>“It was just before Sunday-school. Her mother had dressed +her all in white muslin like a fairy, but she had stepped on the edge +of a puddle, and some of the muddy water had bespattered her frock. +A circle of children had surrounded her, and some of the motherly little +girls were on their knees rubbing at the spots anxiously, while one +of them wiped away the tears that were running down her pretty cheeks. +I looked! It was fatal! I did not look again, but I was +smitten to the very heart! I did not speak to her for six years, +but when I did, it was all right with both of us, thank God! and I’ve +been in love with her ever since, when she behaves herself!”</p> +<p>That is the way they speak of love in Barbury Green, and oh! how +much sweeter and more wholesome it is than the language of the town! +Who would not be a Goose Girl, “to win the secret of the weed’s +plain heart”? It seems to me that in society we are always +gazing at magic-lantern shows, but here we rest our tired eyes with +looking at the stars.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p>July 16th.</p> +<p>Phoebe and I have been to a Hen Conference at Buffington. It +was for the purpose of raising the standard of the British Hen, and +our local Countess, who is much interested in poultry, was in the chair.</p> +<p>It was a very learned body, but Phoebe had coached me so well that +at the noon recess I could talk confidently with the members, discussing +the various advantages of True and Crossed Minorcas, Feverels, Andalusians, +Cochin Chinas, Shanghais, and the White Leghorn. (Phoebe, when +she pronounces this word, leaves out the “h” and bears down +heavily on the last syllable, so that it rhymes with begone!)</p> +<p>As I was sitting under the trees waiting for Phoebe to finish some +shopping in the village, a travelling poultry-dealer came along and +offered to sell me a silver Wyandotte pullet and cockerel. This +was a new breed to me and I asked the price, which proved to be more +than I should pay for a hat in Bond Street. I hesitated, thinking +meantime what a delightful parting gift they would be for Phoebe; I +mean if we ever should part, which seems more and more unlikely, as +I shall never leave Thornycroft until somebody comes properly to fetch +me; indeed, unless the “fetching” is done somewhat speedily +I may decline to go under any circumstances. My indecision as +to the purchase was finally banished when the poultryman asserted that +the fowls had clear open centres all over, black lacing entirely round +the white centres, were free from white edging, and each had a cherry-red +eye. This catalogue of charms inflamed my imagination, though +it gave me no mental picture of a silver Wyandotte fowl, and I paid +the money while the dealer crammed the chicks, squawking into my five-o’clock +tea-basket.</p> +<p>The afternoon session of the conference was most exciting, for we +reached the subject of imported eggs, an industry that is assuming terrifying +proportions. The London hotel egg comes from Denmark, it seems,—I +should think by sailing vessel, not steamer, but I may be wrong. +After we had settled that the British Hen should be protected and encouraged, +and agreed solemnly to abstain from Danish eggs in any form, and made +a resolution stating that our loyalty to Queen Alexandra would remain +undiminished, we argued the subject of hen diet. There was a great +difference of opinion here and the discussion was heated; the honorary +treasurer standing for pulped mangold and flint grit, the chair insisting +on barley meal and randans, while one eloquent young woman declared, +to loud cries of “’Ear, ’ear!” that rice pudding +and bone chips produce more eggs to the square hen than any other sort +of food. Impassioned orators arose here and there in the audience +demanding recognition for beef scraps, charcoal, round corn or buckwheat. +Foods were regarded from various standpoints: as general invigorators, +growth assisters, and egg producers. A very handsome young farmer +carried off final honours, and proved to the satisfaction of all the +feminine poultry-raisers that green young hog bones fresh cut in the +Banner Bone Breaker (of which he was the agent) possessed a nutritive +value not to be expressed in human language.</p> +<p>Phoebe was distinctly nervous when I rose to say a few words on poultry +breeding, announcing as my topic “Mothers, Stepmothers, Foster-Mothers, +and Incubators.” Protected by the consciousness that no +one in the assemblage could possibly know me, I made a distinct success +in my maiden speech; indeed, I somewhat overshot the mark, for the Countess +in the chair sent me a note asking me to dine with her that evening. +I suppressed the note and took Phoebe away before the proceedings were +finished, vanishing from the scene of my triumphs like a veiled prophet.</p> +<p>Just as we were passing out the door we paused to hear the report +of a special committee whose chairman read the following resolutions:—</p> +<p><i>Whereas</i>,—It has pleased the Almighty to remove from +our midst our greatest Rose Comb Buff Orpington fancier and esteemed +friend, Albert Edward Sheridain; therefore be it</p> +<p><i>Resolved</i>,—That the next edition of our catalogue contain +an illustrated memorial page in his honour and</p> +<p><i>Resolved</i>,—That the Rose Comb Buff Orpington Club extend +to the bereaved family their heartfelt sympathy.</p> +<p>The handsome young farmer followed us out to our trap, invited us +to attend the next meeting of the R. C. B. O. Club, of which he was +the secretary, and asked if I were intending to “show.” +I introduced Phoebe as the senior partner, and she concealed the fact +that we possessed but one Buff Orpington, and he was a sad “invaleed” +not suitable for exhibition. The farmer’s expression as +he looked at me was almost lover-like, and when he pressed a bit of +paper into my hand I was sure it must be an offer of marriage. +It was in fact only a circular describing the Banner Bone Breaker. +It closed with an appeal to Buff Orpington breeders to raise and ever +raise the standard, bidding them remember, in the midst of a low-minded +and sordid civilisation, that the rose comb should be small and neat, +firmly set on, with good working, a nice spike at the back lying well +down to head, and never, under any circumstances, never sticking up. +This adjuration somewhat alarmed us as Phoebe and I had been giving +our Buff Orpington cockerel the most drastic remedies for his languid +and prostrate comb.</p> +<p>Coming home we alighted from the trap to gather hogweed for the rabbits. +I sat by the wayside lazily and let Phoebe gather the appetising weed, +which grows along the thorniest hedges in close proximity to nettles +and thistles.</p> +<p>Workmen were trudging along with their luncheon-baskets of woven +bulrushes slung over their shoulders. Fields of ripening grain +lay on either hand, the sun shining on their every shade of green and +yellow, bronze and orange, while the breeze stirred the bearded barley +into a rippling golden sea.</p> +<p>Phoebe asked me if the people I had left behind at the Hydropathic +were my relatives.</p> +<p>“Some of them are of remote consanguinity,” I responded +evasively, and the next question was hushed upon her awe-stricken tongue, +as I intended.</p> +<p>“They are obeying my wish to be let alone, there’s no +doubt of that,” I was thinking. “For my part, I like +a little more spirit, and a little less ‘letter’!”</p> +<p>As the word “letter” flitted through my thoughts, I pulled +one from my pocket and glanced through it carelessly. It arrived, +somewhat tardily, only last night, or I should not have had it with +me. I wore the same dress to the post-office yesterday that I +wore to the Hen Conference to-day, and so it chanced to be still in +the pocket. If it had been anything I valued, of course I should +have lost or destroyed it by mistake; it is only silly, worthless little +things like this that keep turning up and turning up after one has forgotten +their existence.</p> +<blockquote><p>“You are a mystery!” [it ran.] “I +can apprehend, but not comprehend you. I know you in part. +I understand various bits of your nature; but my knowledge is always +fragmentary and disconnected, and when I attempt to make a whole of +the mosaics I merely get a kaleidoscopic effect. Do you know those +geographical dissected puzzles that they give to children? You +remind me of one of them.</p> +<p>“I have spent many charming (and dangerous) hours trying to +‘put you together’; but I find, when I examine my picture +closely, that after all I’ve made a purple mountain grow out of +a green tree; that my river is running up a steep hillside; and that +the pretty milkmaid, who should be wandering in the forest, is standing +on her head with her pail in the air</p> +<p>“Do you understand yourself clearly? Or is it just possible +that when you dive to the depths of your own consciousness, you sometimes +find the pretty milkmaid standing on her head? I wonder!” +. . .</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Ah, well, it is no wonder that he wonders! So do I, for +that matter!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>July 17th.</p> +<p>Thornycroft Farm seems to be the musical centre of the universe.</p> +<p>When I wake very early in the morning I lie in a drowsy sort of dream, +trying to disentangle, one from the other, the various bird notes, trills, +coos, croons, chirps, chirrups, and warbles. Suddenly there falls +on the air a delicious, liquid, finished song; so pure, so mellow, so +joyous, that I go to the window and look out at the morning world, half +awakened, like myself.</p> +<p>There is I know not what charm in a window that does not push up, +but opens its lattices out into the greenness. And mine is like +a little jewelled door, for the sun is shining from behind the chimneys +and lighting the tiny diamond panes with amber flashes.</p> +<p>A faint delicate haze lies over the meadow, and rising out of it, +and soaring toward the blue is the lark, flinging out that matchless +matin song, so rich, so thrilling, so lavish! As the blithe melody +fades away, I hear the plaintive ballad-fragments of the robin on a +curtsying branch near my window; and there is always the liquid pipe +of the thrush, who must quaff a fairy goblet of dew between his songs, +I should think, so fresh and eternally young is his note.</p> +<p>There is another beautiful song that I follow whenever I hear it, +straining my eyes to the treetops, yet never finding a bird that I can +identify as the singer. Can it be the—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ousel-cock so black of hue,<br /> +With orange-tawny bill”?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He is called the poet-laureate of the primrose time, but I don’t +know whether he sings in midsummer, and I have not seen him hereabouts. +I must write and ask my dear Man of the North. The Man of the +North, I sometimes think, had a Fairy Grandmother who was a robin; and +perhaps she made a nest of fresh moss and put him in the green wood +when he was a wee bairnie, so that he waxed wise in bird-lore without +knowing it. At all events, describe to him the cock of a head, +the glance of an eye, the tip-up of a tail, or the sheen of a feather, +and he will name you the bird. Near-sighted he is, too, the Man +of the North, but that is only for people.</p> +<p>The Square Baby and I have a new game.</p> +<p>I bought a doll’s table and china tea-set in Buffington. +We put it under an apple-tree in the side garden, where the scarlet +lightning grows so tall and the Madonna lilies stand so white against +the flaming background. We built a little fence around it, and +every afternoon at tea-time we sprinkle seeds and crumbs in the dishes, +water in the tiny cups, drop a cherry in each of the fruit-plates, and +have a <i>thé chantant</i> for the birdies. We sometimes +invite an “invaleed” duckling, or one of the baby rabbits, +or the peacock, in which case the cards read:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Thornycroft Farm.<br /> +The pleasure of your company is requested<br /> +at a<br /> +Thé Chantant<br /> +Under the Apple Tree.<br /> +Music at five.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is a charming game, as I say, but I’d far rather play it +with the Man of the North; he is so much younger than the Square Baby, +and so much more responsive, too.</p> +<p>Thornycroft Farm is a sweet place, too, of odours as well as sounds. +The scent of the hay is for ever in the nostrils, the hedges are thick +with wild honeysuckle, so deliciously fragrant, the last of the June +roses are lingering to do their share, and blackberry blossoms and ripening +fruit as well.</p> +<p>I have never known a place in which it is so easy to be good. +I have not said a word, nor scarcely harboured a thought, that was not +lovely and virtuous since I entered these gates, and yet there are those +who think me fantastic, difficult, hard to please, unreasonable!</p> +<p>I believe the saints must have lived in the country mostly (I am +certain they never tried Hydropathic hotels), and why anybody with a +black heart and natural love of wickedness should not simply buy a poultry +farm and become an angel, I cannot understand.</p> +<p>Living with animals is really a very improving and wholesome kind +of life, to the person who will allow himself to be influenced by their +sensible and high-minded ideals. When you come to think about +it, man is really the only animal that ever makes a fool of himself; +the others are highly civilised, and never make mistakes. I am +going to mention this when I write to somebody, sometime; I mean if +I ever do. To be sure, our human life is much more complicated +than theirs, and I believe when the other animals notice our errors +of judgment they make allowances. The bee is as busy as a bee, +and the beaver works like a beaver, but there their responsibility ends. +The bee doesn’t have to go about seeing that other bees are not +crowded into unsanitary tenements or victimised by the sweating system. +When the beaver’s day of toil is over he doesn’t have to +discuss the sphere, the rights, or the voting privileges of beaveresses; +all he has to do is to work like a beaver, and that is comparatively +simple.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p>I have been studying <i>The Young Poultry Keeper’s Friend</i> +of late. If there is anything I dislike and deplore, it is the +possession of knowledge which I cannot put to practical use. Having +discovered an interesting disease called Scaly Leg in the July number, +I took the magazine out into the poultry-yard and identified the malady +on three hens and a cock. Phoebe joined me in the diagnosis and +we treated the victims with a carbolic lotion and scrubbed them with +vaseline.</p> +<p>As Phoebe and I grow wise in medical lore the case of Cannibal Ann +assumes a different aspect. As the bibulous man quaffs more and +more flagons of beer and wine when his daily food is ham, salt fish, +and cabbage, so does the hen avenge her wrongs of diet and woes of environment. +Cannibal Ann, herself, has, so far as we know, been raised in a Christian +manner and enjoyed all the advantages of modern methods; but her maternal +parent may have lived in some heathen poultry-yard which was asphalted +or bricked or flagged, so that she was debarred from scratching in Mother +Earth and was forced to eat her own shells in self-defence.</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>The Square Baby is not particularly attracted by the poultry as a +whole, save when it is boiled with bacon or roasted with bread-sauce; +but he is much interested in the “invaleeds.” Whenever +Phoebe and I start for the hospital with the tobacco-pills, the tin +of paraffin, and the bottle of oil, he is very much in evidence. +Perhaps he has a natural leaning toward the medical profession; at any +rate, when pain and anguish wring the brow, he is in close attendance +upon the ministering angels.</p> +<p>Now it is necessary for the physician to have practice as well as +theory, so the Square Baby, being left to himself this afternoon, proceeded +to perfect himself in some of the healing arts used by country practitioners.</p> +<p>When discovered, he was seated in front of the wire-covered “run” +attached to a coop occupied by the youngest goslings. A couple +of bottles and a box stood by his side, and I should think he had administered +a cup of sweet oil, a pint of paraffin, and a quarter of a pound of +tobacco during his clinic. He had used the remedies impartially, +sometimes giving the paraffin internally and rubbing the patient’s +head with tobacco or oil, sometimes the reverse.</p> +<p>Several goslings leaned languidly against the netting, or supported +themselves by the edge of the water-dish, while others staggered and +reeled about with eyes half closed.</p> +<p>It was Mrs. Heaven who caught her son red-handed, so to speak. +She was dressed in her best, and just driving off to Woodmucket to spend +a day or two with her married daughter, and soothe her nerves with the +uproar incident to a town of six hundred inhabitants. She delayed +her journey a half-hour—long enough, in fact, to change her black +silk waist for a loose sacque which would give her arms full and comfortable +play. The joy and astonishment that greeted the Square Baby on +his advent, five years ago, was forgotten for the first time in his +brief life, and he was treated precisely as any ordinary wrongdoer would +have been treated under the same circumstances, summarily and smartly; +the “wepping,” as Phoebe would say, being Mrs. Heaven’s +hand.</p> +<p>All but one of the goslings lived, like thousands of others who recover +in spite of the doctors, but the Square Baby’s interest in the +healing art is now perceptibly lessened.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p>July 18th.</p> +<p>The day was Friday; Phoebe’s day to go to Buffington with eggs +and chickens and rabbits; her day to solicit orders for ducklings and +goslings. The village cart was ready in the stable; Mr. and Mrs. +Heaven were in Woodmucket; I was eating my breakfast (which I remember +was an egg and a rasher) when Phoebe came in, a figure of woe.</p> +<p>The Square Baby was ill, very ill, and would not permit her to leave +him and go to market. Would I look at him? For he must have +dowsed ’imself as well as the goslings yesterday; anyways he was +strong of paraffin and tobacco, though he ’ad ’ad a good +barth.</p> +<p>I prescribed for Albert Edward, who was as uncomfortable and feverish +as any little sinner in the county of Sussex, and I then promptly proposed +going to Buffington in Phoebe’s place.</p> +<p>She did not think it at all proper, and said that, notwithstanding +my cotton gown and sailor hat, I looked quite, quite the lydy, and it +would never do.</p> +<p>“I cannot get any new orders,” said I, “but I can +certainly leave the rabbits and eggs at the customary places. +I know Argent’s Dining Parlours, and Songhurst’s Tea Rooms, +and the Six Bells Inn, as well as you do.”</p> +<p>So, donning a pair of Phoebe’s large white cotton gloves with +open-work wrists (than which I always fancy there is no one article +that so disguises the perfect lydy), I set out upon my travels, upborne +by a lively sense of amusement that was at least equal to my feeling +that I was doing Phoebe Heaven a good turn.</p> +<p>Prices in dressed poultry were fluctuating, but I had a copy of <i>The +Trade Review</i>, issued that very day, and was able to get some idea +of values and the state of the market as I jogged along. The general +movement, I learned, was moderate and of a “selective” character. +Choice large capons and ducks were in steady demand, but I blushed for +my profession when I read that roasting chickens were running coarse, +staggy, and of irregular value. Old hens were held firmly at sixpence, +and it is my experience that they always have to be, at whatever price. +Geese were plenty, dull, and weak. Old cocks,—why don’t +they say roosters?—declined to threepence ha’penny on Thursday +in sympathy with fowls,—and who shall say that chivalry is dead? +Turkeys were a trifle steadier, and there was a speculative movement +in limed eggs. All this was illuminating, and I only wished I +were quite certain whether the sympathetic old roosters were threepence +ha’penny apiece, or a pound.</p> +<p>Everything happened as it should, on this first business journey +of my life, which is equivalent to saying that nothing happened at all. +Songhurst’s Tea Rooms took five dozen eggs and told me to bring +six dozen the next week. Argent’s Dining Parlours purchased +three pairs of chickens and four rabbits. The Six Bells found +the last poultry somewhat tough and tasteless; whereupon I said that +our orders were more than we could possibly fill, still I hoped we could +go on “selling them,” as we never liked to part with old +customers, no matter how many new ones there were. Privately, +I understood the complaint only too well, for I knew the fowls in question +very intimately. Two of them were the runaway rooster and the +gadabout hen that never wanted to go to bed with the others. The +third was Cannibal Ann. I should have expected them to be tough, +but I cannot believe they were lacking in flavour.</p> +<p>The only troublesome feature of the trip was that Mrs. Sowerbutt’s +lodgers had suddenly left for London and she was unable to take the +four rabbits as she had hoped; but as an offset to that piece of ill-fortune +the Coke and Coal Yard and the Bicycle Repairing Rooms came out into +the street, and, stepping up to the trap, requested regular weekly deliveries +of eggs and chickens, and hoped that I would be able to bring them myself. +And so, in a happy frame of mind, I turned out of the Buffington main +street, and was jogging along homeward, when a very startling thing +happened; namely, a whole verse of the Bailiff’s Daughter of Islington:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And as she went along the high road,<br /> +The weather being hot and dry,<br /> +She sat her down upon a green bank,<br /> +And her true love came riding by.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That true lovers are given to riding by, in ballads, I know very +well, but I hardly supposed they did so in real life, especially when +every precaution had been taken to avert such a catastrophe. I +had told the Barbury Green postmistress, on the morning of my arrival, +not to give the Thornycroft address to anybody whatsoever, but finding, +as the days passed, that no one was bold enough or sensible enough to +ask for it, I haughtily withdrew my prohibition. About this time +I began sending envelopes, carefully addressed in a feigned hand, to +a certain person at the Oxenbridge Hydro. These envelopes contained +no word of writing, but held, on one day, only a bit of down from a +hen’s breast, on another, a goose-quill, on another, a glossy +tail-feather, on another, a grain of corn, and so on. These trifles +were regarded by me not as degrading or unmaidenly hints and suggestions, +but simply as tests of intelligence. Could a man receive tokens +of this sort and fail to put two and two together? I feel that +I might possibly support life with a domineering and autocratic husband,—and +there is every prospect that I shall be called upon to do so,—but +not with a stupid one. Suppose one were linked for ever to a man +capable of asking,—“Did <i>you</i> send those feathers? +. . . How was I to guess? . . . How was a fellow to know they came from +you? . . . What on earth could I suppose they meant? . . . What clue +did they offer me as to your whereabouts? . . . Am I a Sherlock Holmes?”—No, +better eternal celibacy than marriage with such a being!</p> +<p>These were the thoughts that had been coursing through my goose-girl +mind while I had been selling dressed poultry, but in some way they +had not prepared me for the appearance of the aforesaid true love.</p> +<p>To see the very person whom one has left civilisation to avoid is +always more or less surprising, and to make the meeting less likely, +Buffington is even farther from Oxenbridge than Barbury Green. +The creature was well mounted (ominous, when he came to override my +caprice!) and he looked bigger, and, yes, handsomer, though that doesn’t +signify, and still more determined than when I saw him last; although +goodness knows that timidity and feebleness of purpose were not in striking +evidence on that memorable occasion. I had drawn up under the +shade of a tree ostensibly to eat some cherries, thinking that if I +turned my face away I might pass unrecognised. It was a stupid +plan, for if I had whipped up the mare and driven on, he of course, +would have had to follow, and he has too much dignity and self-respect +to shriek recriminations into a woman’s ear from a distance.</p> +<p>He approached with deliberation, reined in his horse, and lifted +his hat ceremoniously. He has an extremely shapely head, but I +did not show that the sight of it melted in the least the ice of my +resolve; whereupon we talked, not very freely at first,—men are +so stiff when they consider themselves injured. However, silence +is even more embarrassing than conversation, so at length I begin:—</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“It is a lovely day.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Yes, but the drought is getting rather +oppressive, don’t you think?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“The crops certainly +need rain, and the feed is becoming scarce.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Are you a farmer’s wife?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Oh no! that is a promotion +to look forward to; I am now only a Goose Girl.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Indeed! If I wished to be severe +I might remark: that I am sure you have found at last your true vocation!”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“It was certainly through +no desire to please <i>you</i> that I chose it.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I am quite sure of that! Are +you staying in this part?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Oh no! I live +many miles distant, over an extremely rough road. And you?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I am still at the Hydropathic; or +at least my luggage is there.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“It must be very pleasant +to attract you so long.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Not so pleasant as it was.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“No? A new proprietor, +I suppose.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“No; same proprietor; but the house +is empty.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (yawning purposely).—“That +is strange; the hotels are usually so full at this season. Why +did so many leave?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“As a matter of fact, only one left. +‘Full’ and ‘empty’ are purely relative terms. +I call a hotel full when it has you in it, empty when it hasn’t.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (dying to laugh, but concealing her +feelings).—“I trust my bulk does not make the same impression +on the general public! Well, I won’t detain you longer; +good afternoon; I must go home to my evening work.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I will accompany you.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“If you are a gentleman +you will remain where you are.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“In the road? Perhaps; but if +I am a man I shall follow you; they always do, I notice. What +are those foolish bundles in the back of that silly cart?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Feed for the pony, +please, sir; fish for dinner; randans and barley meal for the poultry; +and four unsold rabbits. Wouldn’t you like them? Only +one and sixpence apiece. Shot at three o’clock this morning.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Thanks; I don’t like mine shot +so early.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Oh, well! doubtless +I shall be able to dispose of them on my way home, though times is ’ard!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Do you mean that you will “peddle” +them along the road?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“You understand me better +than usual,—in fact to perfection.”</p> +<p>He dismounts and strides to the back of the cart, lifts the covers, +seizes the rabbits, flings some silver contemptuously into the basket, +and looks about him for a place to bury his bargain. A small boy +approaching in the far distance will probably bag the game.</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (modestly).—“Thanks for +your trade, sir, rather ungraciously bestowed, and we ’opes for +a continuance of your past fyvors.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (leaning on the wheel of the trap).—“Let +us stop this nonsense. What did you hope to gain by running away?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Distance and absence.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“You knew you couldn’t prevent +my offering myself to you sometime or other.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Perhaps not; but I +could at least defer it, couldn’t I?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Why postpone the inevitable?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Doubtless I shrank +from giving you the pain of a refusal.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Perhaps; but do you know what I suspect?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“I’m not a suspicious +person, thank goodness!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“That, on the contrary, you are wilfully +withholding from me the joy of acceptance.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“If I intended to accept +you, why did I run away?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“To make yourself more desirable and +precious, I suppose.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (with the most confident coquetry).—“Did +I succeed?”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“No; you failed utterly.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (secretly piqued).—“Then +I am glad I tried it.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“You couldn’t succeed because +you were superlatively desirable and precious already; but you should +never have experimented. Don’t you know that Love is a high +explosive?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Is it? Then it +ought always to be labelled ‘dangerous,’ oughtn’t +it? But who thought of suggesting matches? I’m sure +I didn’t!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“No such luck; I wish you would.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“According to your theory, +if you apply a match to Love it is likely to ‘go off.’”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I wish you would try it on mine and +await the result. Come now, you’ll have to marry somebody, +sometime.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“I confess I don’t +see the necessity.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (morosely).—“You’re the sort of +woman men won’t leave in undisturbed spinsterhood; they’ll +keep on badgering you.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Oh, I don’t mind +the badgering of a number of men; it’s rather nice. It’s +the one badger I find obnoxious.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (impatiently).—“That’s just the +perversity of things. I could put a stop to the protestations +of the many; I should like nothing better—but the pertinacity +of the one! Ah, well! I can’t drop that without putting +an end to my existence.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (politely).—“I shouldn’t +think of suggesting anything so extreme.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (quoting).—“‘Mrs. Hauksbee proceeded +to take the conceit out of Pluffles as you remove the ribs of an umbrella +before re-covering.’ However, you couldn’t ask me +anything seriously that I wouldn’t do, dear Mistress Perversity.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (yielding a point).—“I’ll +put that boldly to the proof. Say you don’t love me!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (seizing his advantage).—“I don’t! +It’s imbecile and besotted devotion! Tell me, when may I +come to take you away?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i> (sighing).—“It’s +like asking me to leave Heaven.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“I know it; she told me where to find +you,—Thornycroft is the seventh poultry-farm I’ve visited,—but +you could never leave Heaven, you can’t be happy without poultry, +why that is a wish easily gratified. I’ll get you a farm +to-morrow; no, it’s Saturday, and the real estate offices close +at noon, but on Monday, without fail. Your ducks and geese, always +carrying it along with you. All you would have to do is to admit +me; Heaven is full of twos. If you shall swim on a crystal lake—Phoebe +told me what a genius you have for getting them out of the muddy pond; +she was sitting beside it when I called, her hand in that of a straw-coloured +person named Gladwish, and the ground in her vicinity completely strewn +with votive offerings. You shall splash your silver sea with an +ivory wand; your hens shall have suburban cottages, each with its garden; +their perches shall be of satin-wood and their water dishes of mother-of-pearl. +You shall be the Goose Girl and I will be the Swan Herd—simply +to be near you—for I hate live poultry. Dost like the picture? +It’s a little like Claude Melnotte’s, I confess. The +fact is I am not quite sane; talking with you after a fortnight of the +tabbies at the Hydro is like quaffing inebriating vodka after Miffin’s +Food! May I come to-morrow?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiffs Daughter</i> (hedging).—“I shall be rather +busy; the Crossed Minorca hen comes off to-morrow.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“Oh, never mind! I’ll take +her off to-night when I escort you to the farm; then she’ll get +a day’s advantage.”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“And rob fourteen prospective +chicks of a mother; nay, lose the chicks themselves? Never!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“So long as you are a Goose Girl, does +it make any difference whose you are? Is it any more agreeable +to be Mrs. Heaven’s Goose Girl than mine?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“Ah! but in one case +the term of service is limited; in the other, permanent.”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i>.—“But in the one case you are the slave +of the employer, in the other the employer of the slave. Why did +you run away?”</p> +<p><i>Bailiff’s Daughter</i>.—“A man’s mind +is too dull an instrument to measure a woman’s reason; even my +own fails sometimes to deal with all its delicate shades; but I think +I must have run away chiefly to taste the pleasure of being pursued +and brought back. If it is necessary to your happiness that you +should explore all the Bluebeard chambers of my being, I will confess +further that it has taken you nearly three weeks to accomplish what +I supposed you would do in three days!”</p> +<p><i>True Love</i> (after a well-spent interval).—“To-morrow, +then; shall we say before breakfast? All, do! Why not? +Well, then, immediately after breakfast, and I breakfast at seven nowadays, +and sometimes earlier. Do take off those ugly cotton gloves, dear; +they are five sizes too large for you, and so rough and baggy to the +touch!”</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1867-h.htm or 1867-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/6/1867 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net + + + + + +Title: The Diary of a Goose Girl + + +Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin + +Release Date: April 11, 2005 [eBook #1867] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL*** + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1902 Gay and Bird edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL + + +CHAPTER I. + + +THORNYCROFT FARM, near Barbury Green, July 1, 190-. + +In alluding to myself as a Goose Girl, I am using only the most modest of +my titles; for I am also a poultry-maid, a tender of Belgian hares and +rabbits, and a shepherdess; but I particularly fancy the role of Goose +Girl, because it recalls the German fairy tales of my early youth, when I +always yearned, but never hoped, to be precisely what I now am. + +As I was jolting along these charming Sussex roads the other day, a fat +buff pony and a tippy cart being my manner of progression, I chanced upon +the village of Barbury Green. + +One glance was enough for any woman, who, having eyes to see, could see +with them; but I made assurance doubly sure by driving about a little, +struggling to conceal my new-born passion from the stable-boy who was my +escort. Then, it being high noon of a cloudless day, I descended from +the trap and said to the astonished yokel: "You may go back to the +Hydropathic; I am spending a month or two here. Wait a moment--I'll send +a message, please!" + +I then scribbled a word or two to those having me in custody. + +"I am very tired of people," the note ran, "and want to rest myself by +living a while with things. Address me (if you must) at Barbury Green +post-office, or at all events send me a box of simple clothing +there--nothing but shirts and skirts, please. I cannot forget that I am +only twenty miles from Oxenbridge (though it might be one hundred and +twenty, which is the reason I adore it), but I rely upon you to keep an +honourable distance yourselves, and not to divulge my place of retreat to +others, especially to--you know whom! Do not pursue me. I will never be +taken alive!" + +Having cut, thus, the cable that bound me to civilisation, and having +seen the buff pony and the dazed yokel disappear in a cloud of dust, I +looked about me with what Stevenson calls a "fine, dizzy, muddle-headed +joy," the joy of a successful rebel or a liberated serf. Plenty of money +in my purse--that was unromantic, of course, but it simplified +matters--and nine hours of daylight remaining in which to find a lodging. + +The village is one of the oldest, and I am sure it must be one of the +quaintest, in England. It is too small to be printed on the map (an +honour that has spoiled more than one Arcadia), so pray do not look +there, but just believe in it, and some day you may be rewarded by +driving into it by chance, as I did, and feel the same Columbus thrill +running, like an electric current, through your veins. I withhold +specific geographical information in order that you may not miss that +Columbus thrill, which comes too seldom in a world of railroads. + +The Green is in the very centre of Barbury village, and all civic, +political, family, and social life converges there, just at the public +duck-pond--a wee, sleepy lake with a slope of grass-covered stones by +which the ducks descend for their swim. + +The houses are set about the Green like those in a toy village. They are +of old brick, with crumpled, up-and-down roofs of deep-toned red, and +tufts of stonecrop growing from the eaves. Diamond-paned windows, half +open, admit the sweet summer air; and as for the gardens in front, it +would seem as if the inhabitants had nothing to do but work in them, +there is such a riotous profusion of colour and bloom. To add to the +effect, there are always pots of flowers hanging from the trees, blue +flax and yellow myrtle; and cages of Java sparrows and canaries singing +joyously, as well they may in such a paradise. + +The shops are idyllic, too, as if Nature had seized even the man of trade +and made him subservient to her designs. The general draper's, where I +fitted myself out for a day or two quite easily, is set back in a tangle +of poppies and sweet peas, Madonna lilies and Canterbury bells. The shop +itself has a gay awning, and what do you think the draper has suspended +from it, just as a picturesque suggestion to the passer-by? Suggestion I +call it, because I should blush to use the word advertisement in +describing anything so dainty and decorative. Well, then, garlands of +shoes, if you please! Baby bootlets of bronze; tiny ankle-ties in +yellow, blue, and scarlet kid; glossy patent-leather pumps shining in the +sun, with festoons of slippers at the corners, flowery slippers in +imitation Berlin wool-work. If you make this picture in your mind's-eye, +just add a window above the awning, and over the fringe of marigolds in +the window-box put the draper's wife dancing a rosy-cheeked baby. Alas! +my words are only black and white, I fear, and this picture needs a +palette drenched in primary colours. + +Along the street, a short distance, is the old watchmaker's. Set in the +hedge at the gate is a glass case with _Multum in Parvo_ painted on the +woodwork. Within, a little stand of trinkets revolves slowly; as slowly, +I imagine, as the current of business in that quiet street. The house +stands a trifle back and is covered thickly with ivy, while over the +entrance-door of the shop is a great round clock set in a green frame of +clustering vine. The hands pointed to one when I passed the watchmaker's +garden with its thicket of fragrant lavender and its murmuring bees; so I +went in to the sign of the "Strong i' the Arm" for some cold luncheon, +determining to patronise "The Running Footman" at the very next +opportunity. Neither of these inns is starred by Baedeker, and this fact +adds the last touch of enchantment to the picture. + +The landlady at the "Strong i' the Arm" stabbed me in the heart by +telling me that there were no apartments to let in the village, and that +she had no private sitting-room in the inn; but she speedily healed the +wound by saying that I might be accommodated at one of the farm-houses in +the vicinity. Did I object to a farm-'ouse? Then she could cheerfully +recommend the Evan's farm, only 'alf a mile away. She 'ad understood +from Miss Phoebe Evan, who sold her poultry, that they would take one +lady lodger if she didn't wish much waiting upon. + +In my present mood I was in search of the strenuous life, and eager to +wait, rather than to be waited upon; so I walked along the edge of the +Green, wishing that some mentally unbalanced householder would take a +sudden fancy to me and ask me to come in and lodge awhile. I suppose +these families live under their roofs of peach-blow tiles, in the midst +of their blooming gardens, for a guinea a week or thereabouts; yet if +they "undertook" me (to use their own phrase), the bill for my humble +meals and bed would be at least double that. I don't know that I blame +them; one should have proper compensation for admitting a world-stained +lodger into such an Eden. + +When I was searching for rooms a week ago, I chanced upon a pretty +cottage where the woman had sometimes let apartments. She showed me the +premises and asked me if I would mind taking my meals in her own dining- +room, where I could be served privately at certain hours: and, since she +had but the one sitting-room, would I allow her to go on using it +occasionally? also, if I had no special preference, would I take the +second-sized bedroom and leave her in possession of the largest one, +which permitted her to have the baby's crib by her bedside? She thought +I should be quite as comfortable, and it was her opinion that in making +arrangements with lodgers, it was a good plan not to "bryke up the 'ome +any more than was necessary." + +"Bryke up the 'ome!" That is seemingly the malignant purpose with which +I entered Barbury Green. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +July 4th. + +Enter the family of Thornycroft Farm, of which I am already a member in +good and regular standing. + +I introduce Mrs. Heaven first, for she is a self-saturated person who +would never forgive the insult should she receive any lower place. + +She welcomed me with the statement: "We do not take lodgers here, nor +boarders; no lodgers, nor boarders, but we do occasionally admit paying +guests, those who look as if they would appreciate the quietude of the +plyce and be willing as you might say to remunerate according." + +I did not mind at this particular juncture what I was called, so long as +the epithet was comparatively unobjectionable, so I am a paying guest, +therefore, and I expect to pay handsomely for the handsome appellation. +Mrs. Heaven is short and fat; she fills her dress as a pin-cushion fills +its cover; she wears a cap and apron, and she is so full of platitudes +that she would have burst had I not appeared as a providential outlet for +them. Her accent is not of the farm, but of the town, and smacks wholly +of the marts of trade. She is repetitious, too, as well as +platitudinous. "I 'ope if there's anythink you require you will let us +know, let us know," she says several times each day; and whenever she +enters my sitting-room she prefaces her conversation with the remark: "I +trust you are finding it quiet here, miss? It's the quietude of the +plyce that is its charm, yes, the quietude. And yet" (she dribbles on) +"it wears on a body after a while, miss. I often go into Woodmucket to +visit one of my sons just for the noise, simply for the noise, miss, for +nothink else in the world but the noise. There's nothink like noise for +soothing nerves that is worn threadbare with the quietude, miss, or at +least that's my experience; and yet to a strynger the quietude of the +plyce is its charm, undoubtedly its chief charm; and that is what our +paying guests always say, although our charges are somewhat higher than +other plyces. If there's anythink you require, miss, I 'ope you'll +mention it. There is not a commodious assortment in Barbury Green, but +we can always send the pony to Woodmucket in case of urgency. Our paying +guest last summer was a Mrs. Pollock, and she was by way of having sudden +fancies. Young and unmarried though you are, miss, I think you will tyke +my meaning without my speaking plyner? Well, at six o'clock of a rainy +afternoon, she was seized with an unaccountable desire for vegetable +marrows, and Mr. 'Eaven put the pony in the cart and went to Woodmucket +for them, which is a great advantage to be so near a town and yet 'ave +the quietude." + +Mr. Heaven is merged, like Mr. Jellyby, in the more shining qualities of +his wife. A line of description is too long for him. Indeed, I can +think of no single word brief enough, at least in English. The Latin +"nil" will do, since no language is rich in words of less than three +letters. He is nice, kind, bald, timid, thin, and so colourless that he +can scarcely be discerned save in a strong light. When Mrs. Heaven goes +out into the orchard in search of him, I can hardly help calling from my +window, "Bear a trifle to the right, Mrs. Heaven--now to the left--just +in front of you now--if you put out your hands you will touch him." + +Phoebe, aged seventeen, is the daughter of the house. She is virtuous, +industrious, conscientious, and singularly destitute of physical charm. +She is more than plain; she looks as if she had been planned without any +definite purpose in view, made of the wrong materials, been badly put +together, and never properly finished off; but "plain" after all is a +relative word. Many a plain girl has been married for her beauty; and +now and then a beauty, falling under a cold eye, has been thought plain. + +Phoebe has her compensations, for she is beloved by, and reciprocates the +passion of, the Woodmancote carrier, Woodmucket being the English manner +of pronouncing the place of his abode. If he "carries" as energetically +for the great public as he fetches for Phoebe, then he must be a rising +and a prosperous man. He brings her daily, wild strawberries, cherries, +birds' nests, peacock feathers, sea-shells, green hazel-nuts, samples of +hens' food, or bouquets of wilted field flowers tied together tightly and +held with a large, moist, loving hand. He has fine curly hair of sandy +hue, which forms an aureole on his brow, and a reddish beard, which makes +another inverted aureole to match, round his chin. One cannot look at +him, especially when the sun shines through him, without thinking how +lovely he would be if stuffed and set on wheels, with a little string to +drag him about. + +Phoebe confided to me that she was on the eve of loving the postman when +the carrier came across her horizon. + +"It doesn't do to be too hysty, does it, miss?" she asked me as we were +weeding the onion bed. "I was to give the postman his answer on the +Monday night, and it was on the Monday morning that Mr. Gladwish made his +first trip here as carrier. I may say I never wyvered from that moment, +and no more did he. When I think how near I came to promising the +postman it gives me a turn." (I can understand that, for I once met the +man I nearly promised years before to marry, and we both experienced such +a sense of relief at being free instead of bound that we came near +falling in love for sheer joy.) + +The last and most important member of the household is the Square Baby. +His name is Albert Edward, and he is really five years old and no baby at +all; but his appearance on this planet was in the nature of a complete +surprise to all parties concerned, and he is spoiled accordingly. He has +a square head and jaw, square shoulders, square hands and feet. He is +red and white and solid and stolid and slow-witted, as the young of his +class commonly are, and will make a bulwark of the nation in course of +time, I should think; for England has to produce a few thousand such +square babies every year for use in the colonies and in the standing +army. Albert Edward has already a military gait, and when he has +acquired a habit of obedience at all comparable with his power of +command, he will be able to take up the white man's burden with +distinguished success. Meantime I can never look at him without +marvelling how the English climate can transmute bacon and eggs, tea and +the solid household loaf into such radiant roses and lilies as bloom upon +his cheeks and lips. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +July 8th. + +Thornycroft is by way of being a small poultry farm. + +In reaching it from Barbury Green, you take the first left-hand road, go +till you drop, and there you are. + +It reminds me of my "grandmother's farm at Older." Did you know the song +when you were a child?-- + + My grandmother had a very fine farm + 'Way down in the fields of Older. + With a cluck-cluck here, + And a cluck-cluck there, + Here and there a cluck-cluck, + Cluck-cluck here and there, + Down in the fields at Older. + +It goes on for ever by the simple subterfuge of changing a few words in +each verse. + + My grandmother had a very fine farm + 'Way down in the fields of Older. + With a quack-quack here, + And a quack-quack there, + Here and there a quack-quack, + Quack-quack here and there, + Down in the fields at Older. + +This is followed by the gobble-gobble, moo-moo, baa-baa, etc., as long as +the laureate's imagination and the infant's breath hold good. The tune +is pretty, and I do not know, or did not, when I was young, a more +fascinating lyric. + +Thornycroft House must have belonged to a country gentleman once upon a +time, or to more than one; men who built on a bit here and there once in +a hundred years, until finally we have this charmingly irregular and +dilapidated whole. You go up three steps into Mrs. Heaven's room, down +two into mine, while Phoebe's is up in a sort of turret with long, narrow +lattices opening into the creepers. There are crooked little +stair-cases, passages that branch off into other passages and lead +nowhere in particular; I can't think of a better house in which to play +hide and seek on a wet day. In front, what was once, doubtless, a green, +is cut up into greens; to wit, a vegetable garden, where the onions, +turnips, and potatoes grow cosily up to the very door-sill; the +utilitarian aspect of it all being varied by some scarlet-runners and a +scattering of poppies on either side of the path. + +The Belgian hares have their habitation in a corner fifty feet distant; +one large enclosure for poultry lies just outside the sweetbrier hedge; +the others, with all the houses and coops, are in the meadow at the back, +where also our tumbler pigeons are kept. + +Phoebe attends to the poultry; it is her department. Mr. Heaven has +neither the force nor the _finesse_ required, and the gentle reader who +thinks these qualities unneeded in so humble a calling has only to spend +a few days at Thornycroft to be convinced. Mrs. Heaven would be of use, +but she is dressing the Square Baby in the morning and putting him to bed +at night just at the hours when the feathered young things are undergoing +the same operation. + +A Goose Girl, like a poet, is sometimes born, sometimes otherwise. I am +of the born variety. No training was necessary; I put my head on my +pillow as a complicated product of modern civilisation on a Tuesday +night, and on a Wednesday morning I awoke as a Goose Girl. + +My destiny slumbered during the day, but at eight o'clock I heard a +terrific squawking in the direction of the duck-ponds, and, aimlessly +drifting in that direction, I came upon Phoebe trying to induce ducks and +drakes, geese and ganders, to retire for the night. They have to be +driven into enclosures behind fences of wire netting, fastened into +little rat-proof boxes, or shut into separate coops, so as to be safe +from their natural enemies, the rats and foxes; which, obeying, I +suppose, the law of supply and demand, abound in this neighbourhood. The +old ganders are allowed their liberty, being of such age, discretion, +sagacity, and pugnacity that they can be trusted to fight their own +battles. + +The intelligence of hens, though modest, is of such an order that it +prompts them to go to bed at a virtuous hour of their own accord; but +ducks and geese have to be materially assisted, or I believe they would +roam till morning. Never did small boy detest and resist being carried +off to his nursery as these dullards, young and old, detest and resist +being driven to theirs. Whether they suffer from insomnia, or nightmare, +or whether they simply prefer the sweet air of liberty (and death) to the +odour of captivity and the coop, I have no means of knowing. + +Phoebe stood by one of the duck-ponds, a long pole in her hand, and a +helpless expression in that doughlike countenance of hers, where aimless +contours and features unite to make a kind of facial blur. (What does +the carrier see in it?) The pole was not long enough to reach the ducks, +and Phoebe's method lacked spirit and adroitness, so that it was natural, +perhaps, that they refused to leave the water, the evening being warm, +with an uncommon fine sunset. + +I saw the situation at once and ran to meet it with a glow of interest +and anticipation. If there is anything in the world I enjoy, it is +making somebody do something that he doesn't want to do; and if, when +victory perches upon my banner, the somebody can be brought to say that +he ought to have done it without my making him, that adds the +unforgettable touch to pleasure, though seldom, alas! does it happen. +Then ensued the delightful and stimulating hour that has now become a +feature of the day; an hour in which the remembrance of the table-d'hote +dinner at the Hydro, going on at identically the same time, only stirs me +to a keener joy and gratitude. + +The ducks swim round in circles, hide under the willows, and attempt to +creep into the rat-holes in the banks, a stupidity so crass that it +merits instant death, which it somehow always escapes. Then they come +out in couples and waddle under the wrong fence into the lower meadow, +fly madly under the tool-house, pitch blindly in with the sitting hens, +and out again in short order, all the time quacking and squawking, +honking and hissing like a bewildered orchestra. By dint of splashing +the water with poles, throwing pebbles, beating the shrubs at the pond's +edges, "shooing" frantically with our skirts, crawling beneath bars to +head them off, and prodding them from under bushes to urge them on, we +finally get the older ones out of the water and the younger ones into +some sort of relation to their various retreats; but, owing to their lack +of geography, hatred of home, and general recalcitrancy, they none of +them turn up in the right place and have to be sorted out. We uncover +the top of the little house, or the enclosure as it may be, or reach in +at the door, and, seizing the struggling victim, drag him forth and take +him where he should have had the wit to go in the first instance. The +weak ones get in with the strong and are in danger of being trampled; two +May goslings that look almost full-grown have run into a house with a +brood of ducklings a week old. There are twenty-seven crowded into one +coop, five in another, nineteen in another; the gosling with one leg has +to come out, and the duckling threatened with the gapes; their place is +with the "invaleeds," as Phoebe calls them, but they never learn the +location of the hospital, nor have the slightest scruple about spreading +contagious diseases. + +Finally, when we have separated and sorted exhaustively, an operation in +which Phoebe shows a delicacy of discrimination and a fearlessness of +attack amounting to genius, we count the entire number and find several +missing. Searching for their animate or inanimate bodies, we "scoop" one +from under the tool-house, chance upon two more who are being harried and +pecked by the big geese in the lower meadow, and discover one sailing by +himself in solitary splendour in the middle of the deserted pond, a look +of evil triumph in his bead-like eye. Still we lack one young duckling, +and he at length is found dead by the hedge. A rat has evidently seized +him and choked him at a single throttle, but in such haste that he has +not had time to carry away the tiny body. + +"Poor think!" says Phoebe tearfully; "it looks as if it was 'it with some +kind of a wepping. I don't know whatever to do with the rats, they're +gettin' that fearocious!" + +Before I was admitted into daily contact with the living goose (my +previous intercourse with him having been carried on when gravy and +stuffing obscured his true personality), I thought him a very Dreyfus +among fowls, a sorely slandered bird, to whom justice had never been +done; for even the gentle Darwin is hard upon him. My opinion is +undergoing some slight modifications, but I withhold judgment at present, +hoping that some of the follies, faults, vagaries, and limitations that I +observe in Phoebe's geese may be due to Phoebe's educational methods, +which were, before my advent, those of the darkest ages. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +July 9th. + +By the time the ducks and geese are incarcerated for the night, the +reasonable, sensible, practical-minded hens--especially those whose +mentality is increased and whose virtue is heightened by the +responsibilities of motherhood--have gone into their own particular rat- +proof boxes, where they are waiting in a semi-somnolent state to have the +wire doors closed, the bricks set against them, and the bits of sacking +flung over the tops to keep out the draught. We have a great many young +families, both ducklings and chicks, but we have no duck mothers at +present. The variety of bird which Phoebe seems to have bred during the +past year may be called the New Duck, with certain radical ideas about +woman's sphere. What will happen to Thornycroft if we develop a New Hen +and a New Cow, my imagination fails to conceive. There does not seem to +be the slightest danger for the moment, however, and our hens lay and sit +and sit and lay as if laying and sitting were the twin purposes of life. + +The nature of the hen seems to broaden with the duties of maternity, but +I think myself that we presume a little upon her amiability and natural +motherliness. It is one thing to desire a family of one's own, to lay +eggs with that idea in view, to sit upon them three long weeks and hatch +out and bring up a nice brood of chicks. It must be quite another to +have one's eggs abstracted day by day and eaten by a callous public, the +nest filled with deceitful substitutes, and at the end of a dull and +weary period of hatching to bring into the world another person's +children--children, too, of the wrong size, the wrong kind of bills and +feet, and, still more subtle grievance, the wrong kind of instincts, +leading them to a dangerous aquatic career, one which the mother may not +enter to guide, guard, and teach; one on the brink of which she must ever +stand, uttering dryshod warnings which are never heeded. They grow used +to this strange order of things after a bit, it is true, and are less +anxious and excited. When the duck-brood returns safely again and again +from what the hen-mother thinks will prove a watery grave, she becomes +accustomed to the situation, I suppose. I find that at night she stands +by the pond for what she considers a decent, self-respecting length of +time, calling the ducklings out of the water; then, if they refuse to +come, the mother goes off to bed and leaves them to Providence, or +Phoebe. + +The brown hen that we have named Cornelia is the best mother, the one who +waits longest and most patiently for the web-footed Gracchi to finish +their swim. + +When a chick is taken out of the incubytor (as Phoebe calls it) and +refused by all the other hens, Cornelia generally accepts it, though she +had twelve of her own when we began using her as an orphan asylum. "Wings +are made to stretch," she seems to say cheerfully, and with a kind glance +of her round eye she welcomes the wanderer and the outcast. She even +tended for a time the offspring of an absent-minded, light-headed +pheasant who flew over a four-foot wall and left her young behind her to +starve; it was not a New Pheasant, either; for the most conservative and +old-fashioned of her tribe occasionally commits domestic solecisms of +this sort. + +There is no telling when, where, or how the maternal instinct will assert +itself. Among our Thornycroft cats is a certain Mrs. Greyskin. She had +not been seen for many days, and Mrs. Heaven concluded that she had +hidden herself somewhere with a family of kittens; but as the supply of +that article with us more than equals the demand, we had not searched for +her with especial zeal. + +The other day Mrs. Greyskin appeared at the dairy door, and when she had +been fed Phoebe and I followed her stealthily, from a distance. She +walked slowly about as if her mind were quite free from harassing care, +and finally approached a deserted cow-house where there was a great mound +of straw. At this moment she caught sight of us and turned in another +direction to throw us off the scent. We persevered in our intention of +going into her probable retreat, and were cautiously looking for some +sign of life in the haymow, when we heard a soft cackle and a ruffling of +plumage. Coming closer to the sound we saw a black hen brooding a nest, +her bright bead eyes turning nervously from side to side; and, coaxed out +from her protecting wings by youthful curiosity, came four kittens, eyes +wide open, warm, happy, ready for sport! + +The sight was irresistible, and Phoebe ran for Mr. and Mrs. Heaven and +the Square Baby. Mother Hen was not to be embarrassed or daunted, even +if her most sacred feelings were regarded in the light of a cheap +entertainment. She held her ground while one of the kits slid up and +down her glossy back, and two others, more timid, crept underneath her +breast, only daring to put out their pink noses! We retired then for +very shame and met Mrs. Greyskin in the doorway. This should have +thickened the plot, but there is apparently no rivalry nor animosity +between the co-mothers. We watch them every day now, through a window in +the roof. Mother Greyskin visits the kittens frequently, lies down +beside the home nest, and gives them their dinner. While this is going +on Mother Blackwing goes modestly away for a bite, a sup, and a little +exercise, returning to the kittens when the cat leaves them. It is +pretty to see her settle down over the four, fat, furry dumplings, and +they seem to know no difference in warmth or comfort, whichever mother is +brooding them; while, as their eyes have been open for a week, it can no +longer be called a blind error on their part. + +When we have closed all our small hen-nurseries for the night, there is +still the large house inhabited by the thirty-two full-grown chickens +which Phoebe calls the broilers. I cannot endure the term, and will not +use it. "Now for the April chicks," I say every evening. + +"Do you mean the broilers?" asks Phoebe. + +"I mean the big April chicks," say I. + +"Yes, them are the broilers," says she. + +But is it not disagreeable enough to be a broiler when one's time comes, +without having the gridiron waved in one's face for weeks beforehand? + +The April chicks are all lively and desirous of seeing the world as +thoroughly as possible before going to roost or broil. As a general +thing, we find in the large house sixteen young fowls of the +contemplative, flavourless, resigned-to-the-inevitable variety; three +more (the same three every night) perch on the roof and are driven down; +four (always the same four) cling to the edge of the open door, waiting +to fly off, but not in, when you attempt to close it; nine huddle +together on a place in the grass about forty feet distant, where a small +coop formerly stood in the prehistoric ages. This small coop was one in +which they lodged for a fortnight when they were younger, and when those +absolutely indelible impressions are formed of which we read in +educational maxims. It was taken away long since, but the nine loyal (or +stupid) Casabiancas cling to the sacred spot where its foundations +rested; they accordingly have to be caught and deposited bodily in the +house, and this requires strategy, as they note our approach from a +considerable distance. + +Finally all are housed but two, the little white cock and the black +pullet, who are still impish and of a wandering mind. Though headed off +in every direction, they fly into the hedges and hide in the underbrush. +We beat the hedge on the other side, but with no avail. We dive into the +thicket of wild roses, sweetbrier, and thistles on our hands and knees, +coming out with tangled hair, scratched noses, and no hens. Then, when +all has been done that human ingenuity can suggest, Phoebe goes to her +late supper and I do sentry-work. I stroll to a safe distance, and, +sitting on one of the rat-proof boxes, watch the bushes with an eagle +eye. Five minutes go by, ten, fifteen; and then out steps the white +cock, stealthily tiptoeing toward the home into which he refused to go at +our instigation. In a moment out creeps the obstinate little beast of a +black pullet from the opposite clump. The wayward pair meet at their own +door, which I have left open a few inches. When all is still I walk +gently down the field, and, warned by previous experiences, approach the +house from behind. I draw the door to softly and quickly; but not so +quickly that the evil-minded and suspicious black pullet hasn't time to +spring out, with a make-believe squawk of fright--that induces three +other blameless chickens to fly down from their perches and set the whole +flock in a flutter. Then I fall from grace and call her a Broiler; and +when, after some minutes of hot pursuit, I catch her by falling over her +in the corner by the goose-pen, I address her as a fat, juicy Broiler +with parsley butter and a bit of bacon. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +July 10th. + +At ten thirty or so in the morning the cackling begins. I wonder exactly +what it means! Have the forest-lovers who listen so respectfully to, and +interpret so exquisitely, the notes of birds--have none of them made +psychological investigations of the hen cackle? Can it be simple +elation? One could believe that of the first few eggs, but a hen who has +laid two or three hundred can hardly feel the same exuberant pride and +joy daily. Can it be the excitement incident to successful achievement? +Hardly, because the task is so extremely simple. Eggs are more or less +alike; a little larger or smaller, a trifle whiter or browner; and almost +sure to be quite right as to details; that is, the big end never gets +confused with the little end, they are always ovoid and never spherical, +and the yolk is always inside of the white. As for a soft-shelled egg, +it is so rare an occurrence that the fear of laying one could not set the +whole race of hens in a panic; so there really cannot be any intellectual +or emotional agitation in producing a thing that might be made by a +machine. Can it be simply "fussiness"; since the people who have the +least to do commonly make the most flutter about doing it? + +Perhaps it is merely conversation. "_Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut_-DAH_cut_! . . +. I have finished my strictly fresh egg, have you laid yours? Make +haste, then, for the cock has found a gap in the wire-fence and wants us +to wander in the strawberry-bed. . . . Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut-DAH_cut_ . . . +Every moment is precious, for the Goose Girl will find us, when she +gathers the strawberries for her luncheon . . . Cut-cut-cut-cut! On the +way out we can find sweet places to steal nests . . . Cut-cut-cut! . . . +I am so glad I am not sitting this heavenly morning; it _is_ a dull life. + +A Lancashire poultryman drifted into Barbury Green yesterday. He is an +old acquaintance of Mr. Heaven, and spent the night and part of the next +day at Thornycroft Farm. He possessed a deal of fowl philosophy, and +tells many a good hen story, which, like fish stories, draw rather +largely on the credulity of the audience. We were sitting in the +rickyard talking comfortably about laying and cackling and kindred +matters when he took his pipe from his mouth and told us the following +tale--not a bad one if you can translate the dialect:-- + +'Aw were once towd as, if yo' could only get th' hen's egg away afooar +she hed sin it, th' hen 'ud think it hed med a mistek an' sit deawn +ageean an' lay another. + +"An' it seemed to me it were a varra sensible way o' lukkin' at it. Sooa +aw set to wark to mek a nest as 'ud tek a rise eawt o' th' hens. An' aw +dud it too. Aw med a nest wi' a fause bottom, th' idea bein' as when a +hen hed laid, th' egg 'ud drop through into a box underneyth. + +"Aw felt varra preawd o' that nest, too, aw con tell yo', an' aw remember +aw felt quite excited when aw see an awd black Minorca, th' best layer as +aw hed, gooa an' settle hersel deawn i' th' nest an' get ready for wark. +Th' hen seemed quite comfortable enough, aw were glad to see, an' geet +through th' operation beawt ony seemin' trouble. + +"Well, aw darsay yo' know heaw a hen carries on as soon as it's laid a +egg. It starts "chuckin'" away like a showman's racket, an' after +tekkin' a good Ink at th' egg to see whether it's a big 'un or a little +'un, gooas eawt an' tells all t'other hens abeawt it. + +"Neaw, this black Minorca, as aw sed, were a owdish bird, an' maybe knew +mooar than aw thowt. Happen it hed laid on a nest wi' a fause bottom +afooar, an' were up to th' trick, but whether or not, aw never see a hen +luk mooar disgusted i' mi life when it lukked i' th' nest an' see as it +hed hed all that trouble fer nowt. + +"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 hen--not 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 families--it would not be profitable; and the older mother, +having been tried and found faithful over seven, has been given the other +nine and accepted them. What of the bereft one? She is miserable and +stands about moping and forlorn, but it is no use fighting against the +inevitable; hens' hearts must obey the same laws that govern the rotation +of crops. Catherine of Aragon feels her lot a bitter one just now, but +in time she will succumb, and lay, which is more to the point. + +We have had a very busy evening, beginning with the rats' supper--delicate +sandwiches of bread-and-butter spread with Paris green. + +We have a new brood of seventeen ducklings just hatched this afternoon. +When we came to the nest the yellow and brown bunches of down and fluff +were peeping out from under the hen's wings in the prettiest fashion in +the world. + +"It's a noble hen!" I said to Phoebe. + +"She ain't so nowble as she looks," Phoebe answered grimly. "It was +another 'en that brooded these eggs for near on three weeks and then this +big one come along with a fancy she'd like a family 'erself if she could +steal one without too much trouble; so she drove the rightful 'en off the +nest, finished up the last few days, and 'ere she is in possession of the +ducklings!" + +"Why don't you take them away from her and give them back to the first +hen, who did most of the work?" I asked, with some spirit. + +"Like as not she wouldn't tyke them now," said Phoebe, as she lifted the +hen off the broken egg-shells and moved her gently into a clean box, on a +bed of fresh hay. We put food and drink within reach of the family, and +very proud and handsome that highway robber of a hen looked, as she +stretched her wings over the seventeen easily-earned ducklings. + +Going back to the old nesting-box, I found one egg forgotten among the +shells. It was still warm, and I took it up to run across the field with +it to Phoebe. It was heavy, and the carrying of it was a queer +sensation, inasmuch as it squirmed and "yipped" vociferously in transit, +threatening so unmistakably to hatch in my hand that I was decidedly +nervous. The intrepid little youngster burst his shell as he touched +Phoebe's apron, and has become the strongest and handsomest of the brood. + +All this tending of downy young things, this feeding and putting to bed, +this petting and nursing and rearing, is such pretty, comforting woman's +work. I am sure Phoebe will make a better wife to the carrier for having +been a poultry-maid, and though good enough for most practical purposes +when I came here, I am an infinitely better woman now. I am afraid I was +not particularly nice the last few days at the Hydro. Such a lot of +dull, prosy, inquisitive, bothering old tabbies! Aunt Margaret +furnishing imaginary symptoms enough to keep a fond husband and two +trained nurses distracted; a man I had never encouraged in my life coming +to stay in the neighbourhood and turning up daily for rejection; another +man taking rooms at the very hotel with the avowed purpose of making my +life a burden; and on the heels of both, a widow of thirty-five in full +chase! Small wonder I thought it more dignified to retire than to +compete, and so I did. + +I need not, however, have cut the threads that bound me to Oxenbridge +with such particularly sharp scissors, nor given them such a vicious +snap; for, so far as I can observe, the little world of which I imagined +myself the sun continues to revolve, and, probably, about some other +centre. I can well imagine who has taken up that delightful but somewhat +exposed and responsible position--it would be just like her! + +I am perfectly happy where I am; it is not that; but it seems so strange +that they can be perfectly happy without me, after all that they--after +all that was said on the subject not many days ago. Nothing turns out as +one expects. There have been no hot pursuits, no rewards offered, no +bills posted, no printed placards issued describing the beauty and charms +of a young person who supposed herself the cynosure of every eye. Heigh- +ho! What does it matter, after all? One can always be a Goose Girl! + +* * * + +I wonder if the hen mother is quite, quite satisfied with her ducklings! +Do you suppose the fact of hatching and brooding them breaks down all the +sense of difference? Does she not sometimes reflect that if her children +were the ordinary sort, and not these changelings, she would be enjoying +certain pretty little attentions dear to a mother's heart? The chicks +would be pecking the food off her broad beak with their tiny ones, and +jumping on her back to slide down her glossy feathers. They would be far +nicer to cuddle, too, so small and graceful and light; the changelings +are a trifle solid and brawny. And personally, just as a matter of +taste, would she not prefer wee, round, glancing heads, and pointed +beaks, peeping from under her wings, to these teaspoon-shaped things +larger than her own? I wonder! + +We are training fourteen large young chickens to sit on the perches in +their new house, instead of huddling together on the floor as has been +their habit, because we discover rat-holes under the wire flooring +occasionally, and fear that toes may be bitten. At nine o'clock Phoebe +and I lift the chickens one by one, and, as it were, glue them to their +perches, squawking. Three nights have we gone patiently through with +this performance, but they have not learned the lesson. The ducks and +geese are, however, greatly improved by the application of advanced +educational methods, and the _regime_ of perfect order and system +instituted by Me begins to show results. + +There is no more violent splashing and pebbling, racing, chasing, +separating. The pole, indeed, still has to be produced, but at the first +majestic wave of my hand they scuttle toward the shore. The geese turn +to the right, cross the rickyard, and go to their pen; the May ducks turn +to the left for their coops, the June ducks follow the hens to the top +meadow, and even the idiot gosling has an inspiration now and then and +stumbles on his own habitation. + +Mrs. Heaven has no reverence for the principles of Comenius, Pestalozzi, +or Herbert Spencer as applied to poultry, and when the ducks and geese +came out of the pond badly the other night and went waddling and tumbling +and hissing all over creation, did not approve of my sending them back +into the pond to start afresh. + +"I consider it a great waste of time, of good time, miss," she said; +"and, after all, do you consider that educated poultry will be any better +eating, or that it will lay more than one egg a day, miss?" + +I have given the matter some attention, and I fear Mrs. Heaven is right. +A duck, a goose, or a hen in which I have developed a larger brain, +implanted a sense of duty, or instilled an idea of self-government, is +likely, on the whole, to be leaner, not fatter. There is nothing like +obeying the voice of conscience for taking the flesh off one's bones; +and, speaking of conscience, Phoebe, whose metaphysics are of the farm +farmy, says that hers "felt like a hunlaid hegg for dyes" after she had +jilted the postman. + +As to the eggs, I am sure the birds will go on laying one a day for 'tis +their nature to. Whether the product of the intelligent, conscious, +logical fowl, will be as rich in quality as that of the uneducated and +barbaric bird, I cannot say; but it ought at least to be equal to the +Denmark egg eaten now by all Londoners; and if, perchance, left uneaten, +it is certain to be a very superior wife and mother. + +While we are discussing the subject of educating poultry, I confess that +the case of Cannibal Ann gives me much anxiety. Twice in her short +career has she been under suspicion of eating her own eggs, but Phoebe +has never succeeded in catching her _in flagrante delicto_. That eminent +detective service was reserved for me, and I have been haunted by the +picture ever since. It is an awful sight to witness a hen gulp her own +newly-laid fresh egg, yolk, white, shell, and all; to realise that you +have fed, sheltered, chased, and occasionally run in, a being possessed +of no moral sense, a being likely to set a bad example, inculcate vicious +habits among her innocent sisters, and lower the standard of an entire +poultry-yard. _The Young Poultry Keeper's Friend_ gives us no advice on +this topic, and we do not know whether to treat Cannibal Ann as the +victim of a disease, or as a confirmed criminal; whether to administer +remedies or cut her off in the flower of her youth. + +We have had a sad scene to-night. A chick has been ailing all day, and +when we shut up the brood we found him dead in a corner. + +Phoebe put him on the ground while she busied herself about the coop. The +other chicks came out and walked about the dead one again and again, +eyeing him curiously. + +"Poor little chap!" said Phoebe. "'E's never 'ad a mother! 'E was an +incubytor chicken, and wherever I took 'im 'e was picked at. There was +somethink wrong with 'im; 'e never was a fyvorite!" + +I put the fluffy body into a hole in the turf, and strewed a handful of +grass over him. "Sad little epitaph!" I thought. "He never was a +fyvorite!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +July 13th. + +I like to watch the Belgian hares eating their trifolium or pea-pods or +grass; graceful, gentle things they are, crowding about Mr. Heaven, and +standing prettily, not greedily, on their hind legs, to reach for the +clover, their delicate nostrils and whiskers all a-quiver with +excitement. + +As I look out of my window in the dusk I can see one of the mothers +galloping across the enclosure, the soft white lining of her tail acting +as a beacon-light to the eight infant hares following her, a quaint +procession of eight white spots in it glancing line. In the darkest +night those baby creatures could follow their mother through grass or +hedge or thicket, and she would need no warning note to show them where +to flee in case of danger. "All you have to do is to follow the white +night-light that I keep in the lining of my tail," she says, when she is +giving her first maternal lectures; and it seems a beneficent provision +of Nature. To be sure, Mr. Heaven took his gun and went out to shoot +wild rabbits to-day, and I noted that he marked them by those same self- +betraying tails, as they scuttled toward their holes or leaped toward the +protecting cover of the hedge; so it does not appear whether Nature is on +the side of the farmer or the rabbit . . . + +There is as much comedy and as much tragedy in poultry life as anywhere, +and already I see rifts within lutes. We have in a cage a French +gentleman partridge married to a Hungarian lady of defective sight. He +paces back and forth in the pen restlessly, anything but content with the +domestic fireside. One can see plainly that he is devoted to the +Boulevards, and that if left to his own inclinations he would never have +chosen any spouse but a thorough Parisienne. + +The Hungarian lady is blind of one eye, from some stray shot, I suppose. +She is melancholy at all times, and occasionally goes so far as to beat +her head against the wire netting. If liberated, Mr. Heaven says that +her blindness would only expose her to death at the hands of the first +sportsman, and it always seems to me as if she knows this, and is ever +trying to decide whether a loveless marriage is any better than the tomb. + +Then, again, the great, grey gander is, for some mysterious reason, out +of favour with the entire family. He is a noble and amiable bird, by far +the best all-round character in the flock, for dignity of mien and large- +minded common-sense. What is the treatment vouchsafed to this blameless +husband and father? One that puts anybody out of sorts with virtue and +its scant rewards. To begin with, the others will not allow him to go +into the pond. There is an organised cabal against it, and he sits +solitary on the bank, calm and resigned, but, naturally, a trifle hurt. +His favourite retreat is a tiny sort of island on the edge of the pool +under the alders, where with his bent head, and red-rimmed philosophic +eyes he regards his own breast and dreams of happier days. When the +others walk into the country twenty-three of them keep together, and Burd +Alane (as I have named him from the old ballad) walks by himself. The +lack of harmony is so evident here, and the slight so intentional and +direct, that it almost moves me to tears. The others walk soberly, +always in couples, but even Burd Alane's rightful spouse is on the side +of the majority, and avoids her consort. + +What is the nature of his offence? There can be no connubial jealousies, +I judge, as geese are strictly monogamous, and having chosen a partner of +their joys and sorrows they cleave to each other until death or some +other inexorable circumstance does them part. If they are ever mistaken +in their choice, and think they might have done better, the world is none +the wiser. Burd Alane looks in good condition, but Phoebe thinks he is +not quite himself, and that some day when he is in greater strength he +will turn on his foes and rend them, regaining thus his lost prestige, +for formerly he was king of the flock. + +* * * + +Phoebe has not a vestige of sentiment. She just asked me if I would have +a duckling or a gosling for dinner; that there were two quite ready--the +brown and yellow duckling, that is the last to leave the water at night, +and the white gosling that never knows his own 'ouse. Which would I +'ave, and would I 'ave it with sage and onion? + +Now, had I found a duckling on the table at dinner I should have eaten it +without thinking at all, or with the thought that it had come from +Barbury Green. But eat a duckling that I have stoned out of the pond, +pursued up the bank, chased behind the wire netting, caught, screaming, +in a corner, and carried struggling to his bed? Feed upon an idiot +gosling that I have found in nine different coops on nine successive +nights--in with the newly-hatched chicks, the half-grown pullets, the +setting hen, the "invaleed goose," the drake with the gapes, the old +ducks in the pen?--Eat a gosling that I have caught and put in with his +brothers and sisters (whom he never recognises) so frequently and +regularly that I am familiar with every joint in his body? + +In the first place, with my own small bump of locality and lack of +geography, I would never willingly consume a creature who might, by some +strange process of assimilation, make me worse in this respect; in the +second place, I should have to be ravenous indeed to sit down +deliberately and make a meal of an intimate friend, no matter if I had +not a high opinion of his intelligence. I should as soon think of eating +the Square Baby, stuffed with sage and onion and garnished with green +apple-sauce, as the yellow duckling or the idiot gosling. + +Mrs. Heaven has just called me into her sitting-room, ostensibly to ask +me to order breakfast, but really for the pleasure of conversation. Why +she should inquire whether I would relish some gammon of bacon with eggs, +when she knows that there has not been, is not now, and never will be, +anything but gammon of bacon with eggs, is more than I can explain. + +"Would you like to see my flowers, miss?" she asks, folding her plump +hands over her white apron. "They are looking beautiful this morning. I +am so fond of potted plants, of plants in pots. Look at these geraniums! +Now, I consider that pink one a perfect bloom; yes, a perfect bloom. This +is a fine red one, is it not, miss? Especially fine, don't you think? +The trouble with the red variety is that they're apt to get "bobby" and +have to be washed regularly; quite bobby they do get indeed, I assure +you. That white one has just gone out of blossom, and it was really +wonderful. You could 'ardly have told it from a paper flower, miss, not +from a white paper flower. My plants are my children nowadays, since +Albert Edward is my only care. I have been the mother of eleven +children, miss, all of them living, so far as I know; I know nothing to +the contrary. I 'ope you are not wearying of this solitary place, miss? +It will grow upon you, I am sure, as it did upon Mrs. Pollock, with all +her peculiar fancies, and as it 'as grown upon us.--We formerly had a +butcher's shop in Buffington, and it was naturally a great +responsibility. Mr. Heaven's nerves are not strong, and at last he +wanted a life of more quietude, more quietude was what he craved. The +life of a retail butcher is a most exciting and wearying one. Nobody +satisfied with their meat; as if it mattered in a world of change! +Everybody complaining of too much bone or too little fat; nobody wishing +tough chops or cutlets, but always seeking after fine joints, when it's +against reason and nature that all joints should be juicy and all cutlets +tender; always complaining if livers are not sent with every fowl, always +asking you to remember the trimmin's, always wanting their beef well +'ung, and then if you 'ang it a minute too long, it's left on your 'ands! +I often used to say to Mr. Heaven, yes many's the time I've said it, that +if people would think more of the great 'ereafter and less about their +own little stomachs, it would be a deal better for them, yes, a deal +better, and make it much more comfortable for the butchers!" + +* * * + +Burd Alane has had a good quarter of an hour to-day. + +His spouse took a brief promenade with him. To be sure, it was during an +absence of the flock on the other side of the hedge so that the moral +effect of her spasm of wifely loyalty was quite lost upon them. I +strongly suspect that she would not have granted anything but a secret +interview. What a petty, weak, ignoble character! I really don't like +to think so badly of any fellow-creature as I am forced to think of that +politic, time-serving, pusillanimous goose. I believe she laid the egg +that produced the idiot gosling! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Here follows the true story of Sir Muscovy Drake, the Lady Blanche, and +Miss Malardina Crippletoes. + +Phoebe's flock consisted at first mostly of Brown Mallards, but a friend +gave her a sitting of eggs warranted to produce a most beautiful variety +of white ducks. They were hatched in due time, but proved hard to raise, +till at length there was only one survivor, of such uncommon grace and +beauty that we called her the Lady Blanche. Presently a neighbour sold +Phoebe his favourite Muscovy drake, and these two splendid creatures by +"natural selection" disdained to notice the rest of the flock, but +forming a close friendship, wandered in the pleasant paths of duckdom +together, swimming and eating quite apart from the others. + +In the brown flock there was one unfortunate, misshapen from the egg, +quite lame, and with no smoothness of plumage; but on that very account, +apparently, or because she was too weak to resist them, the others +treated her cruelly, biting her and pushing her away from the food. + +One day it happened that the two ducks--Sir Muscovy and Lady Blanche--had +come up from the water before the others, and having taken their repast +were sitting together under the shade of a flowering currant-bush, when +they chanced to see poor Miss Crippletoes very badly used and crowded +away from the dish. Sir Muscovy rose to his feet; a few rapid words +seemed to pass between him and his mate, and then he fell upon the other +drake and the heartless minions who had persecuted the helpless one, +drove them far away out of sight, and, returning, went to the corner +where the victim was cowering, her face to the wall. He seemed to +whisper to her, or in some way to convey to her a sense of protection; +for after a few moments she tremblingly went with him to the dish, and +hurriedly ate her dinner while he stood by, repulsing the advances of the +few brown ducks who remained near and seemed inclined to attack her. + +When she had eaten enough Lady Blanche joined them, and they went down +the hill together to their favourite swimming-place. After that Miss +Crippletoes always followed a little behind her protectors, and thus +shielded and fed she grew stronger and well-feathered, though she was +always smaller than she should have been and had a lowly manner, keeping +a few steps in the rear of her superiors and sitting at some distance +from their noon resting-place. + +Phoebe noticed after a while that Lady Blanche was seldom to be seen, and +Sir Muscovy and Miss Crippletoes often came to their meals without her. +The would-be mother refused to inhabit the house Phoebe had given her, +and for a long time the place she had chosen for her sitting could not be +found. At length the Square Baby discovered her in a most ideal spot. A +large boulder had dropped years ago into the brook that fills our duck- +pond; dropped and split in halves with the two smooth walls leaning away +from each other. A grassy bank towered behind, and on either side of the +opening, tall bushes made a miniature forest where the romantic mother +could brood her treasures while her two guardians enjoyed the water close +by her retreat. + +All this happened before my coming to Thornycroft Farm, but it was I who +named the hero and heroines of the romance when Phoebe had told me all +the particulars. Yesterday morning I was sitting by my open window. It +was warm, sunny, and still, but in the country sounds travel far, and I +could hear fowl conversation in various parts of the poultry-yard as well +as in all the outlying bits of territory occupied by our feathered +friends. Hens have only three words and a scream in their language, but +ducks, having more thoughts to express, converse quite fluently, so +fluently, in fact, that it reminds me of dinner at the Hydropathic Hotel. +I fancy I have learned to distinguish seven separate sounds, each varied +by degrees of intensity, and with upward or downward inflections like the +Chinese tongue. + +In the distance, then, I heard the faint voice of a duck calling as if +breathless and excited. While I wondered what was happening, I saw Miss +Crippletoes struggling up the steep bank above the duck-pond. It was the +quickest way from the water to the house, but difficult for the little +lame webbed feet. When she reached the level grass sward she sank down a +moment, exhausted; but when she could speak again she cried out, a sharp +staccato call, and ran forward. + +Instantly she was answered from a distant knoll, where for some reason +Sir Muscovy loved to retire for meditation. The cries grew lower and +softer as the birds approached each other, and they met at the corner +just under my window. Instantly they put their two bills together and +the loud cries changed to confiding murmurs. Evidently some hurried +questions and answers passed between them, and then Sir Muscovy waddled +rapidly by the quickest path, Miss Crippletoes following him at a slower +pace, and both passed out of sight, using their wings to help their feet +down the steep declivity. The next morning, when I wakened early, my +first thought was to look out, and there on the sunny greensward where +they were accustomed to be fed, Sir Muscovy, Lady Blanche, and their +humble maid, Malardina Crippletoes, were scattering their own breakfast +before the bills of twelve beautiful golden balls of ducklings. The +little creatures could never have climbed the bank, but must have started +from their nest at dawn, coming round by the brook to the level at the +foot of the garden, and so by slow degrees up to the house. + +Judging from what I heard and knew of their habits, I am sure the +excitement of the previous morning was occasioned by the hatching of the +eggs, and that Lady Blanche had hastily sent her friend to call Sir +Muscovy, the family remaining together until they could bring the babies +with them and display their beauty to Phoebe and me. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +July 14th. + +We are not wholly without the pleasures of the town in Barbury Green. +Once or twice in a summer, late on a Saturday afternoon, a procession of +red and yellow vans drives into a field near the centre of the village. +By the time the vans are unpacked all the children in the community are +surrounding the gate of entrance. There is rifle-shooting, there is +fortune-telling, there are games of pitch and toss, and swings, and +French bagatelle; and, to crown all, a wonderful orchestrion that goes by +steam. The water is boiled for the public's tea, and at the same time +thrilling strains of melody are flung into the air. There is at present +only one tune in the orchestrion's repertory, but it is a very good tune; +though after hearing it three hundred and seven times in a single +afternoon, it pursues one, sleeping and waking, for the next week. Phoebe +and I took the Square Baby and went in to this diversified entertainment. +There was a small crowd of children at the entrance, but as none of them +seemed to be provided with pennies, and I felt in a fairy godmother mood, +I offered them the freedom of the place at my expense. + +I never purchased more radiant good-will for less money, but the combined +effect of the well-boiled tea and the boiling orchestrion produced many +village nightmares, so the mothers told me at chapel next morning. + +* * * + +I have many friends in Barbury Green, and often have a pleasant chat with +the draper, and the watchmaker, and the chemist. + +The last house on the principal street is rather an ugly one, with +especially nice window curtains. As I was taking my daily walk to the +post-office (an entirely unfruitful expedition thus far, as nobody has +taken the pains to write to me) I saw a nursemaid coming out of the gate, +wheeling a baby in a perambulator. She was going placidly away from the +Green when, far in the distance, she espied a man walking rapidly toward +us, a heavy Gladstone bag in one hand. She gazed fixedly for a moment, +her eyes brightening and her cheeks flushing with pleasure,--whoever it +was, it was an unexpected arrival;--then she retraced her steps and, +running up the garden-path, opened the front door and held an excited +colloquy with somebody; a slender somebody in a nice print gown and +neatly-dressed hair, who came to the gate and peeped beyond the hedge +several times, drawing back between peeps with smiles and heightened +colour. She did not run down the road, even when she had satisfied +herself of the identity of the traveller; perhaps that would not have +been good form in an English village, for there were houses on the +opposite side of the way. She waited until he opened the gate, the +nursemaid took the bag and looked discreetly into the hedge, then the +mistress slipped her hand through the traveller's arm and walked up the +path as if she had nothing else in the world to wish for. The nurse had +a part in the joy, for she lifted the baby out of the perambulator and +showed proudly how much he had grown. + +It was a dear little scene, and I, a passer-by, had shared in it and felt +better for it. I think their content was no less because part of it had +enriched my life, for happiness, like mercy, is twice blessed; it blesses +those who are most intimately associated in it, and it blesses all those +who see it, hear it, feel it, touch it, or breathe the same atmosphere. A +laughing, crowing baby in a house, one cheerful woman singing about her +work, a boy whistling at the plough, a romance just suspected, with its +miracle of two hearts melting into one--the wind's always in the west +when you have any of these wonder-workers in your neighbourhood. + +I have talks too, sometimes, with the old parson, who lives in a quaint +house with "_Parva Domus Magna Quies_" cut into the stone over the +doorway. He is not a preaching parson, but a retired one, almost the +nicest kind, I often think. + +He has been married thirty years, he tells me; thirty years, spent in the +one little house with the bricks painted red and grey alternately, and +the scarlet holly-hocks growing under the windows. I am sure they have +been sweet, true, kind years, and that his heart must be a quiet, +peaceful place just like his house and garden. + +"I was only eleven years old when I fell in love with my wife," he told +me as we sat on the seat under the lime-tree; he puffing cosily at his +pipe, I plaiting grasses for a hatband. + +"It was just before Sunday-school. Her mother had dressed her all in +white muslin like a fairy, but she had stepped on the edge of a puddle, +and some of the muddy water had bespattered her frock. A circle of +children had surrounded her, and some of the motherly little girls were +on their knees rubbing at the spots anxiously, while one of them wiped +away the tears that were running down her pretty cheeks. I looked! It +was fatal! I did not look again, but I was smitten to the very heart! I +did not speak to her for six years, but when I did, it was all right with +both of us, thank God! and I've been in love with her ever since, when +she behaves herself!" + +That is the way they speak of love in Barbury Green, and oh! how much +sweeter and more wholesome it is than the language of the town! Who +would not be a Goose Girl, "to win the secret of the weed's plain heart"? +It seems to me that in society we are always gazing at magic-lantern +shows, but here we rest our tired eyes with looking at the stars. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +July 16th. + +Phoebe and I have been to a Hen Conference at Buffington. It was for the +purpose of raising the standard of the British Hen, and our local +Countess, who is much interested in poultry, was in the chair. + +It was a very learned body, but Phoebe had coached me so well that at the +noon recess I could talk confidently with the members, discussing the +various advantages of True and Crossed Minorcas, Feverels, Andalusians, +Cochin Chinas, Shanghais, and the White Leghorn. (Phoebe, when she +pronounces this word, leaves out the "h" and bears down heavily on the +last syllable, so that it rhymes with begone!) + +As I was sitting under the trees waiting for Phoebe to finish some +shopping in the village, a travelling poultry-dealer came along and +offered to sell me a silver Wyandotte pullet and cockerel. This was a +new breed to me and I asked the price, which proved to be more than I +should pay for a hat in Bond Street. I hesitated, thinking meantime what +a delightful parting gift they would be for Phoebe; I mean if we ever +should part, which seems more and more unlikely, as I shall never leave +Thornycroft until somebody comes properly to fetch me; indeed, unless the +"fetching" is done somewhat speedily I may decline to go under any +circumstances. My indecision as to the purchase was finally banished +when the poultryman asserted that the fowls had clear open centres all +over, black lacing entirely round the white centres, were free from white +edging, and each had a cherry-red eye. This catalogue of charms inflamed +my imagination, though it gave me no mental picture of a silver Wyandotte +fowl, and I paid the money while the dealer crammed the chicks, squawking +into my five-o'clock tea-basket. + +The afternoon session of the conference was most exciting, for we reached +the subject of imported eggs, an industry that is assuming terrifying +proportions. The London hotel egg comes from Denmark, it seems,--I +should think by sailing vessel, not steamer, but I may be wrong. After +we had settled that the British Hen should be protected and encouraged, +and agreed solemnly to abstain from Danish eggs in any form, and made a +resolution stating that our loyalty to Queen Alexandra would remain +undiminished, we argued the subject of hen diet. There was a great +difference of opinion here and the discussion was heated; the honorary +treasurer standing for pulped mangold and flint grit, the chair insisting +on barley meal and randans, while one eloquent young woman declared, to +loud cries of "'Ear, 'ear!" that rice pudding and bone chips produce more +eggs to the square hen than any other sort of food. Impassioned orators +arose here and there in the audience demanding recognition for beef +scraps, charcoal, round corn or buckwheat. Foods were regarded from +various standpoints: as general invigorators, growth assisters, and egg +producers. A very handsome young farmer carried off final honours, and +proved to the satisfaction of all the feminine poultry-raisers that green +young hog bones fresh cut in the Banner Bone Breaker (of which he was the +agent) possessed a nutritive value not to be expressed in human language. + +Phoebe was distinctly nervous when I rose to say a few words on poultry +breeding, announcing as my topic "Mothers, Stepmothers, Foster-Mothers, +and Incubators." Protected by the consciousness that no one in the +assemblage could possibly know me, I made a distinct success in my maiden +speech; indeed, I somewhat overshot the mark, for the Countess in the +chair sent me a note asking me to dine with her that evening. I +suppressed the note and took Phoebe away before the proceedings were +finished, vanishing from the scene of my triumphs like a veiled prophet. + +Just as we were passing out the door we paused to hear the report of a +special committee whose chairman read the following resolutions:-- + +_Whereas_,--It has pleased the Almighty to remove from our midst our +greatest Rose Comb Buff Orpington fancier and esteemed friend, Albert +Edward Sheridain; therefore be it + +_Resolved_,--That the next edition of our catalogue contain an +illustrated memorial page in his honour and + +_Resolved_,--That the Rose Comb Buff Orpington Club extend to the +bereaved family their heartfelt sympathy. + +The handsome young farmer followed us out to our trap, invited us to +attend the next meeting of the R. C. B. O. Club, of which he was the +secretary, and asked if I were intending to "show." I introduced Phoebe +as the senior partner, and she concealed the fact that we possessed but +one Buff Orpington, and he was a sad "invaleed" not suitable for +exhibition. The farmer's expression as he looked at me was almost lover- +like, and when he pressed a bit of paper into my hand I was sure it must +be an offer of marriage. It was in fact only a circular describing the +Banner Bone Breaker. It closed with an appeal to Buff Orpington breeders +to raise and ever raise the standard, bidding them remember, in the midst +of a low-minded and sordid civilisation, that the rose comb should be +small and neat, firmly set on, with good working, a nice spike at the +back lying well down to head, and never, under any circumstances, never +sticking up. This adjuration somewhat alarmed us as Phoebe and I had +been giving our Buff Orpington cockerel the most drastic remedies for his +languid and prostrate comb. + +Coming home we alighted from the trap to gather hogweed for the rabbits. +I sat by the wayside lazily and let Phoebe gather the appetising weed, +which grows along the thorniest hedges in close proximity to nettles and +thistles. + +Workmen were trudging along with their luncheon-baskets of woven +bulrushes slung over their shoulders. Fields of ripening grain lay on +either hand, the sun shining on their every shade of green and yellow, +bronze and orange, while the breeze stirred the bearded barley into a +rippling golden sea. + +Phoebe asked me if the people I had left behind at the Hydropathic were +my relatives. + +"Some of them are of remote consanguinity," I responded evasively, and +the next question was hushed upon her awe-stricken tongue, as I intended. + +"They are obeying my wish to be let alone, there's no doubt of that," I +was thinking. "For my part, I like a little more spirit, and a little +less 'letter'!" + +As the word "letter" flitted through my thoughts, I pulled one from my +pocket and glanced through it carelessly. It arrived, somewhat tardily, +only last night, or I should not have had it with me. I wore the same +dress to the post-office yesterday that I wore to the Hen Conference to- +day, and so it chanced to be still in the pocket. If it had been +anything I valued, of course I should have lost or destroyed it by +mistake; it is only silly, worthless little things like this that keep +turning up and turning up after one has forgotten their existence. + + "You are a mystery!" [it ran.] "I can apprehend, but not comprehend + you. I know you in part. I understand various bits of your nature; + but my knowledge is always fragmentary and disconnected, and when I + attempt to make a whole of the mosaics I merely get a kaleidoscopic + effect. Do you know those geographical dissected puzzles that they + give to children? You remind me of one of them. + + "I have spent many charming (and dangerous) hours trying to 'put you + together'; but I find, when I examine my picture closely, that after + all I've made a purple mountain grow out of a green tree; that my + river is running up a steep hillside; and that the pretty milkmaid, + who should be wandering in the forest, is standing on her head with + her pail in the air + + "Do you understand yourself clearly? Or is it just possible that when + you dive to the depths of your own consciousness, you sometimes find + the pretty milkmaid standing on her head? I wonder!" . . . + +Ah, well, it is no wonder that he wonders! So do I, for that matter! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +July 17th. + +Thornycroft Farm seems to be the musical centre of the universe. + +When I wake very early in the morning I lie in a drowsy sort of dream, +trying to disentangle, one from the other, the various bird notes, +trills, coos, croons, chirps, chirrups, and warbles. Suddenly there +falls on the air a delicious, liquid, finished song; so pure, so mellow, +so joyous, that I go to the window and look out at the morning world, +half awakened, like myself. + +There is I know not what charm in a window that does not push up, but +opens its lattices out into the greenness. And mine is like a little +jewelled door, for the sun is shining from behind the chimneys and +lighting the tiny diamond panes with amber flashes. + +A faint delicate haze lies over the meadow, and rising out of it, and +soaring toward the blue is the lark, flinging out that matchless matin +song, so rich, so thrilling, so lavish! As the blithe melody fades away, +I hear the plaintive ballad-fragments of the robin on a curtsying branch +near my window; and there is always the liquid pipe of the thrush, who +must quaff a fairy goblet of dew between his songs, I should think, so +fresh and eternally young is his note. + +There is another beautiful song that I follow whenever I hear it, +straining my eyes to the treetops, yet never finding a bird that I can +identify as the singer. Can it be the-- + + "Ousel-cock so black of hue, + With orange-tawny bill"? + +He is called the poet-laureate of the primrose time, but I don't know +whether he sings in midsummer, and I have not seen him hereabouts. I +must write and ask my dear Man of the North. The Man of the North, I +sometimes think, had a Fairy Grandmother who was a robin; and perhaps she +made a nest of fresh moss and put him in the green wood when he was a wee +bairnie, so that he waxed wise in bird-lore without knowing it. At all +events, describe to him the cock of a head, the glance of an eye, the tip- +up of a tail, or the sheen of a feather, and he will name you the bird. +Near-sighted he is, too, the Man of the North, but that is only for +people. + +The Square Baby and I have a new game. + +I bought a doll's table and china tea-set in Buffington. We put it under +an apple-tree in the side garden, where the scarlet lightning grows so +tall and the Madonna lilies stand so white against the flaming +background. We built a little fence around it, and every afternoon at +tea-time we sprinkle seeds and crumbs in the dishes, water in the tiny +cups, drop a cherry in each of the fruit-plates, and have a _the +chantant_ for the birdies. We sometimes invite an "invaleed" duckling, +or one of the baby rabbits, or the peacock, in which case the cards +read:-- + + Thornycroft Farm. + The pleasure of your company is requested + at a + The Chantant + Under the Apple Tree. + Music at five. + +It is a charming game, as I say, but I'd far rather play it with the Man +of the North; he is so much younger than the Square Baby, and so much +more responsive, too. + +Thornycroft Farm is a sweet place, too, of odours as well as sounds. The +scent of the hay is for ever in the nostrils, the hedges are thick with +wild honeysuckle, so deliciously fragrant, the last of the June roses are +lingering to do their share, and blackberry blossoms and ripening fruit +as well. + +I have never known a place in which it is so easy to be good. I have not +said a word, nor scarcely harboured a thought, that was not lovely and +virtuous since I entered these gates, and yet there are those who think +me fantastic, difficult, hard to please, unreasonable! + +I believe the saints must have lived in the country mostly (I am certain +they never tried Hydropathic hotels), and why anybody with a black heart +and natural love of wickedness should not simply buy a poultry farm and +become an angel, I cannot understand. + +Living with animals is really a very improving and wholesome kind of +life, to the person who will allow himself to be influenced by their +sensible and high-minded ideals. When you come to think about it, man is +really the only animal that ever makes a fool of himself; the others are +highly civilised, and never make mistakes. I am going to mention this +when I write to somebody, sometime; I mean if I ever do. To be sure, our +human life is much more complicated than theirs, and I believe when the +other animals notice our errors of judgment they make allowances. The +bee is as busy as a bee, and the beaver works like a beaver, but there +their responsibility ends. The bee doesn't have to go about seeing that +other bees are not crowded into unsanitary tenements or victimised by the +sweating system. When the beaver's day of toil is over he doesn't have +to discuss the sphere, the rights, or the voting privileges of +beaveresses; all he has to do is to work like a beaver, and that is +comparatively simple. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +I have been studying _The Young Poultry Keeper's Friend_ of late. If +there is anything I dislike and deplore, it is the possession of +knowledge which I cannot put to practical use. Having discovered an +interesting disease called Scaly Leg in the July number, I took the +magazine out into the poultry-yard and identified the malady on three +hens and a cock. Phoebe joined me in the diagnosis and we treated the +victims with a carbolic lotion and scrubbed them with vaseline. + +As Phoebe and I grow wise in medical lore the case of Cannibal Ann +assumes a different aspect. As the bibulous man quaffs more and more +flagons of beer and wine when his daily food is ham, salt fish, and +cabbage, so does the hen avenge her wrongs of diet and woes of +environment. Cannibal Ann, herself, has, so far as we know, been raised +in a Christian manner and enjoyed all the advantages of modern methods; +but her maternal parent may have lived in some heathen poultry-yard which +was asphalted or bricked or flagged, so that she was debarred from +scratching in Mother Earth and was forced to eat her own shells in self- +defence. + +* * * + +The Square Baby is not particularly attracted by the poultry as a whole, +save when it is boiled with bacon or roasted with bread-sauce; but he is +much interested in the "invaleeds." Whenever Phoebe and I start for the +hospital with the tobacco-pills, the tin of paraffin, and the bottle of +oil, he is very much in evidence. Perhaps he has a natural leaning +toward the medical profession; at any rate, when pain and anguish wring +the brow, he is in close attendance upon the ministering angels. + +Now it is necessary for the physician to have practice as well as theory, +so the Square Baby, being left to himself this afternoon, proceeded to +perfect himself in some of the healing arts used by country +practitioners. + +When discovered, he was seated in front of the wire-covered "run" +attached to a coop occupied by the youngest goslings. A couple of +bottles and a box stood by his side, and I should think he had +administered a cup of sweet oil, a pint of paraffin, and a quarter of a +pound of tobacco during his clinic. He had used the remedies +impartially, sometimes giving the paraffin internally and rubbing the +patient's head with tobacco or oil, sometimes the reverse. + +Several goslings leaned languidly against the netting, or supported +themselves by the edge of the water-dish, while others staggered and +reeled about with eyes half closed. + +It was Mrs. Heaven who caught her son red-handed, so to speak. She was +dressed in her best, and just driving off to Woodmucket to spend a day or +two with her married daughter, and soothe her nerves with the uproar +incident to a town of six hundred inhabitants. She delayed her journey a +half-hour--long enough, in fact, to change her black silk waist for a +loose sacque which would give her arms full and comfortable play. The +joy and astonishment that greeted the Square Baby on his advent, five +years ago, was forgotten for the first time in his brief life, and he was +treated precisely as any ordinary wrongdoer would have been treated under +the same circumstances, summarily and smartly; the "wepping," as Phoebe +would say, being Mrs. Heaven's hand. + +All but one of the goslings lived, like thousands of others who recover +in spite of the doctors, but the Square Baby's interest in the healing +art is now perceptibly lessened. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +July 18th. + +The day was Friday; Phoebe's day to go to Buffington with eggs and +chickens and rabbits; her day to solicit orders for ducklings and +goslings. The village cart was ready in the stable; Mr. and Mrs. Heaven +were in Woodmucket; I was eating my breakfast (which I remember was an +egg and a rasher) when Phoebe came in, a figure of woe. + +The Square Baby was ill, very ill, and would not permit her to leave him +and go to market. Would I look at him? For he must have dowsed 'imself +as well as the goslings yesterday; anyways he was strong of paraffin and +tobacco, though he 'ad 'ad a good barth. + +I prescribed for Albert Edward, who was as uncomfortable and feverish as +any little sinner in the county of Sussex, and I then promptly proposed +going to Buffington in Phoebe's place. + +She did not think it at all proper, and said that, notwithstanding my +cotton gown and sailor hat, I looked quite, quite the lydy, and it would +never do. + +"I cannot get any new orders," said I, "but I can certainly leave the +rabbits and eggs at the customary places. I know Argent's Dining +Parlours, and Songhurst's Tea Rooms, and the Six Bells Inn, as well as +you do." + +So, donning a pair of Phoebe's large white cotton gloves with open-work +wrists (than which I always fancy there is no one article that so +disguises the perfect lydy), I set out upon my travels, upborne by a +lively sense of amusement that was at least equal to my feeling that I +was doing Phoebe Heaven a good turn. + +Prices in dressed poultry were fluctuating, but I had a copy of _The +Trade Review_, issued that very day, and was able to get some idea of +values and the state of the market as I jogged along. The general +movement, I learned, was moderate and of a "selective" character. Choice +large capons and ducks were in steady demand, but I blushed for my +profession when I read that roasting chickens were running coarse, +staggy, and of irregular value. Old hens were held firmly at sixpence, +and it is my experience that they always have to be, at whatever price. +Geese were plenty, dull, and weak. Old cocks,--why don't they say +roosters?--declined to threepence ha'penny on Thursday in sympathy with +fowls,--and who shall say that chivalry is dead? Turkeys were a trifle +steadier, and there was a speculative movement in limed eggs. All this +was illuminating, and I only wished I were quite certain whether the +sympathetic old roosters were threepence ha'penny apiece, or a pound. + +Everything happened as it should, on this first business journey of my +life, which is equivalent to saying that nothing happened at all. +Songhurst's Tea Rooms took five dozen eggs and told me to bring six dozen +the next week. Argent's Dining Parlours purchased three pairs of +chickens and four rabbits. The Six Bells found the last poultry somewhat +tough and tasteless; whereupon I said that our orders were more than we +could possibly fill, still I hoped we could go on "selling them," as we +never liked to part with old customers, no matter how many new ones there +were. Privately, I understood the complaint only too well, for I knew +the fowls in question very intimately. Two of them were the runaway +rooster and the gadabout hen that never wanted to go to bed with the +others. The third was Cannibal Ann. I should have expected them to be +tough, but I cannot believe they were lacking in flavour. + +The only troublesome feature of the trip was that Mrs. Sowerbutt's +lodgers had suddenly left for London and she was unable to take the four +rabbits as she had hoped; but as an offset to that piece of ill-fortune +the Coke and Coal Yard and the Bicycle Repairing Rooms came out into the +street, and, stepping up to the trap, requested regular weekly deliveries +of eggs and chickens, and hoped that I would be able to bring them +myself. And so, in a happy frame of mind, I turned out of the Buffington +main street, and was jogging along homeward, when a very startling thing +happened; namely, a whole verse of the Bailiff's Daughter of Islington:-- + + "And as she went along the high road, + The weather being hot and dry, + She sat her down upon a green bank, + And her true love came riding by." + +That true lovers are given to riding by, in ballads, I know very well, +but I hardly supposed they did so in real life, especially when every +precaution had been taken to avert such a catastrophe. I had told the +Barbury Green postmistress, on the morning of my arrival, not to give the +Thornycroft address to anybody whatsoever, but finding, as the days +passed, that no one was bold enough or sensible enough to ask for it, I +haughtily withdrew my prohibition. About this time I began sending +envelopes, carefully addressed in a feigned hand, to a certain person at +the Oxenbridge Hydro. These envelopes contained no word of writing, but +held, on one day, only a bit of down from a hen's breast, on another, a +goose-quill, on another, a glossy tail-feather, on another, a grain of +corn, and so on. These trifles were regarded by me not as degrading or +unmaidenly hints and suggestions, but simply as tests of intelligence. +Could a man receive tokens of this sort and fail to put two and two +together? I feel that I might possibly support life with a domineering +and autocratic husband,--and there is every prospect that I shall be +called upon to do so,--but not with a stupid one. Suppose one were +linked for ever to a man capable of asking,--"Did _you_ send those +feathers? . . . How was I to guess? . . . How was a fellow to know they +came from you? . . . What on earth could I suppose they meant? . . . What +clue did they offer me as to your whereabouts? . . . Am I a Sherlock +Holmes?"--No, better eternal celibacy than marriage with such a being! + +These were the thoughts that had been coursing through my goose-girl mind +while I had been selling dressed poultry, but in some way they had not +prepared me for the appearance of the aforesaid true love. + +To see the very person whom one has left civilisation to avoid is always +more or less surprising, and to make the meeting less likely, Buffington +is even farther from Oxenbridge than Barbury Green. The creature was +well mounted (ominous, when he came to override my caprice!) and he +looked bigger, and, yes, handsomer, though that doesn't signify, and +still more determined than when I saw him last; although goodness knows +that timidity and feebleness of purpose were not in striking evidence on +that memorable occasion. I had drawn up under the shade of a tree +ostensibly to eat some cherries, thinking that if I turned my face away I +might pass unrecognised. It was a stupid plan, for if I had whipped up +the mare and driven on, he of course, would have had to follow, and he +has too much dignity and self-respect to shriek recriminations into a +woman's ear from a distance. + +He approached with deliberation, reined in his horse, and lifted his hat +ceremoniously. He has an extremely shapely head, but I did not show that +the sight of it melted in the least the ice of my resolve; whereupon we +talked, not very freely at first,--men are so stiff when they consider +themselves injured. However, silence is even more embarrassing than +conversation, so at length I begin:-- + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"It is a lovely day." + +_True Love_.--"Yes, but the drought is getting rather oppressive, don't +you think?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"The crops certainly need rain, and the feed is +becoming scarce." + +_True Love_.--"Are you a farmer's wife?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Oh no! that is a promotion to look forward to; I +am now only a Goose Girl." + +_True Love_.--"Indeed! If I wished to be severe I might remark: that I +am sure you have found at last your true vocation!" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"It was certainly through no desire to please +_you_ that I chose it." + +_True Love_.--"I am quite sure of that! Are you staying in this part?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Oh no! I live many miles distant, over an +extremely rough road. And you?" + +_True Love_.--"I am still at the Hydropathic; or at least my luggage is +there." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"It must be very pleasant to attract you so long." + +_True Love_.--"Not so pleasant as it was." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"No? A new proprietor, I suppose." + +_True Love_.--"No; same proprietor; but the house is empty." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (yawning purposely).--"That is strange; the hotels +are usually so full at this season. Why did so many leave?" + +_True Love_.--"As a matter of fact, only one left. 'Full' and 'empty' +are purely relative terms. I call a hotel full when it has you in it, +empty when it hasn't." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (dying to laugh, but concealing her feelings).--"I +trust my bulk does not make the same impression on the general public! +Well, I won't detain you longer; good afternoon; I must go home to my +evening work." + +_True Love_.--"I will accompany you." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"If you are a gentleman you will remain where you +are." + +_True Love_.--"In the road? Perhaps; but if I am a man I shall follow +you; they always do, I notice. What are those foolish bundles in the +back of that silly cart?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Feed for the pony, please, sir; fish for dinner; +randans and barley meal for the poultry; and four unsold rabbits. +Wouldn't you like them? Only one and sixpence apiece. Shot at three +o'clock this morning." + +_True Love_.--"Thanks; I don't like mine shot so early." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Oh, well! doubtless I shall be able to dispose of +them on my way home, though times is 'ard!" + +_True Love_.--"Do you mean that you will "peddle" them along the road?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"You understand me better than usual,--in fact to +perfection." + +He dismounts and strides to the back of the cart, lifts the covers, +seizes the rabbits, flings some silver contemptuously into the basket, +and looks about him for a place to bury his bargain. A small boy +approaching in the far distance will probably bag the game. + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (modestly).--"Thanks for your trade, sir, rather +ungraciously bestowed, and we 'opes for a continuance of your past +fyvors." + +_True Love_ (leaning on the wheel of the trap).--"Let us stop this +nonsense. What did you hope to gain by running away?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Distance and absence." + +_True Love_.--"You knew you couldn't prevent my offering myself to you +sometime or other." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Perhaps not; but I could at least defer it, +couldn't I?" + +_True Love_.--"Why postpone the inevitable?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Doubtless I shrank from giving you the pain of a +refusal." + +_True Love_.--"Perhaps; but do you know what I suspect?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"I'm not a suspicious person, thank goodness!" + +_True Love_.--"That, on the contrary, you are wilfully withholding from +me the joy of acceptance." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"If I intended to accept you, why did I run away?" + +_True Love_.--"To make yourself more desirable and precious, I suppose." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (with the most confident coquetry).--"Did I +succeed?" + +_True Love_.--"No; you failed utterly." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (secretly piqued).--"Then I am glad I tried it." + +_True Love_.--"You couldn't succeed because you were superlatively +desirable and precious already; but you should never have experimented. +Don't you know that Love is a high explosive?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Is it? Then it ought always to be labelled +'dangerous,' oughtn't it? But who thought of suggesting matches? I'm +sure I didn't!" + +_True Love_.--"No such luck; I wish you would." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"According to your theory, if you apply a match to +Love it is likely to 'go off.'" + +_True Love_.--"I wish you would try it on mine and await the result. Come +now, you'll have to marry somebody, sometime." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"I confess I don't see the necessity." + +_True Love_ (morosely).--"You're the sort of woman men won't leave in +undisturbed spinsterhood; they'll keep on badgering you." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Oh, I don't mind the badgering of a number of +men; it's rather nice. It's the one badger I find obnoxious." + +_True Love_ (impatiently).--"That's just the perversity of things. I +could put a stop to the protestations of the many; I should like nothing +better--but the pertinacity of the one! Ah, well! I can't drop that +without putting an end to my existence." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (politely).--"I shouldn't think of suggesting +anything so extreme." + +_True Love_ (quoting).--"'Mrs. Hauksbee proceeded to take the conceit out +of Pluffles as you remove the ribs of an umbrella before re-covering.' +However, you couldn't ask me anything seriously that I wouldn't do, dear +Mistress Perversity." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (yielding a point).--"I'll put that boldly to the +proof. Say you don't love me!" + +_True Love_ (seizing his advantage).--"I don't! It's imbecile and +besotted devotion! Tell me, when may I come to take you away?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_ (sighing).--"It's like asking me to leave Heaven." + +_True Love_.--"I know it; she told me where to find you,--Thornycroft is +the seventh poultry-farm I've visited,--but you could never leave Heaven, +you can't be happy without poultry, why that is a wish easily gratified. +I'll get you a farm to-morrow; no, it's Saturday, and the real estate +offices close at noon, but on Monday, without fail. Your ducks and +geese, always carrying it along with you. All you would have to do is to +admit me; Heaven is full of twos. If you shall swim on a crystal +lake--Phoebe told me what a genius you have for getting them out of the +muddy pond; she was sitting beside it when I called, her hand in that of +a straw-coloured person named Gladwish, and the ground in her vicinity +completely strewn with votive offerings. You shall splash your silver +sea with an ivory wand; your hens shall have suburban cottages, each with +its garden; their perches shall be of satin-wood and their water dishes +of mother-of-pearl. You shall be the Goose Girl and I will be the Swan +Herd--simply to be near you--for I hate live poultry. Dost like the +picture? It's a little like Claude Melnotte's, I confess. The fact is I +am not quite sane; talking with you after a fortnight of the tabbies at +the Hydro is like quaffing inebriating vodka after Miffin's Food! May I +come to-morrow?" + +_Bailiffs Daughter_ (hedging).--"I shall be rather busy; the Crossed +Minorca hen comes off to-morrow." + +_True Love_.--"Oh, never mind! I'll take her off to-night when I escort +you to the farm; then she'll get a day's advantage." + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"And rob fourteen prospective chicks of a mother; +nay, lose the chicks themselves? Never!" + +_True Love_.--"So long as you are a Goose Girl, does it make any +difference whose you are? Is it any more agreeable to be Mrs. Heaven's +Goose Girl than mine?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"Ah! but in one case the term of service is +limited; in the other, permanent." + +_True Love_.--"But in the one case you are the slave of the employer, in +the other the employer of the slave. Why did you run away?" + +_Bailiff's Daughter_.--"A man's mind is too dull an instrument to measure +a woman's reason; even my own fails sometimes to deal with all its +delicate shades; but I think I must have run away chiefly to taste the +pleasure of being pursued and brought back. If it is necessary to your +happiness that you should explore all the Bluebeard chambers of my being, +I will confess further that it has taken you nearly three weeks to +accomplish what I supposed you would do in three days!" + +_True Love_ (after a well-spent interval).--"To-morrow, then; shall we +say before breakfast? All, do! Why not? Well, then, immediately after +breakfast, and I breakfast at seven nowadays, and sometimes earlier. Do +take off those ugly cotton gloves, dear; they are five sizes too large +for you, and so rough and baggy to the touch!" + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL*** + + +******* This file should be named 1867.txt or 1867.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/6/1867 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk +from the 1902 Gay and Bird edition. + + + + + +The Diary of a Goose Girl + +by Kate Douglas Wiggin + + + + +THORNYCROFT FARM, near Barbury Green, July 1, 190-. + +In alluding to myself as a Goose Girl, I am using only the most +modest of my titles; for I am also a poultry-maid, a tender of +Belgian hares and rabbits, and a shepherdess; but I particularly +fancy the role of Goose Girl, because it recalls the German fairy +tales of my early youth, when I always yearned, but never hoped, to +be precisely what I now am. + +As I was jolting along these charming Sussex roads the other day, a +fat buff pony and a tippy cart being my manner of progression, I +chanced upon the village of Barbury Green. + +One glance was enough for any woman, who, having eyes to see, could +see with them; but I made assurance doubly sure by driving about a +little, struggling to conceal my new-born passion from the stable- +boy who was my escort. Then, it being high noon of a cloudless +day, I descended from the trap and said to the astonished yokel: +"You may go back to the Hydropathic; I am spending a month or two +here. Wait a moment--I'll send a message, please!" + +I then scribbled a word or two to those having me in custody. + +"I am very tired of people," the note ran, "and want to rest myself +by living a while with things. Address me (if you must) at Barbury +Green post-office, or at all events send me a box of simple +clothing there--nothing but shirts and skirts, please. I cannot +forget that I am only twenty miles from Oxenbridge (though it might +be one hundred and twenty, which is the reason I adore it), but I +rely upon you to keep an honourable distance yourselves, and not to +divulge my place of retreat to others, especially to--you know +whom! Do not pursue me. I will never be taken alive!" + +Having cut, thus, the cable that bound me to civilisation, and +having seen the buff pony and the dazed yokel disappear in a cloud +of dust, I looked about me with what Stevenson calls a "fine, +dizzy, muddle-headed joy," the joy of a successful rebel or a +liberated serf. Plenty of money in my purse--that was unromantic, +of course, but it simplified matters--and nine hours of daylight +remaining in which to find a lodging. + +The village is one of the oldest, and I am sure it must be one of +the quaintest, in England. It is too small to be printed on the +map (an honour that has spoiled more than one Arcadia), so pray do +not look there, but just believe in it, and some day you may be +rewarded by driving into it by chance, as I did, and feel the same +Columbus thrill running, like an electric current, through your +veins. I withhold specific geographical information in order that +you may not miss that Columbus thrill, which comes too seldom in a +world of railroads. + +The Green is in the very centre of Barbury village, and all civic, +political, family, and social life converges there, just at the +public duck-pond--a wee, sleepy lake with a slope of grass-covered +stones by which the ducks descend for their swim. + +The houses are set about the Green like those in a toy village. +They are of old brick, with crumpled, up-and-down roofs of deep- +toned red, and tufts of stonecrop growing from the eaves. Diamond- +paned windows, half open, admit the sweet summer air; and as for +the gardens in front, it would seem as if the inhabitants had +nothing to do but work in them, there is such a riotous profusion +of colour and bloom. To add to the effect, there are always pots +of flowers hanging from the trees, blue flax and yellow myrtle; and +cages of Java sparrows and canaries singing joyously, as well they +may in such a paradise. + +The shops are idyllic, too, as if Nature had seized even the man of +trade and made him subservient to her designs. The general +draper's, where I fitted myself out for a day or two quite easily, +is set back in a tangle of poppies and sweet peas, Madonna lilies +and Canterbury bells. The shop itself has a gay awning, and what +do you think the draper has suspended from it, just as a +picturesque suggestion to the passer-by? Suggestion I call it, +because I should blush to use the word advertisement in describing +anything so dainty and decorative. Well, then, garlands of shoes, +if you please! Baby bootlets of bronze; tiny ankle-ties in yellow, +blue, and scarlet kid; glossy patent-leather pumps shining in the +sun, with festoons of slippers at the corners, flowery slippers in +imitation Berlin wool-work. If you make this picture in your +mind's-eye, just add a window above the awning, and over the fringe +of marigolds in the window-box put the draper's wife dancing a +rosy-cheeked baby. Alas! my words are only black and white, I +fear, and this picture needs a palette drenched in primary colours. + +Along the street, a short distance, is the old watchmaker's. Set +in the hedge at the gate is a glass case with Multum in Parvo +painted on the woodwork. Within, a little stand of trinkets +revolves slowly; as slowly, I imagine, as the current of business +in that quiet street. The house stands a trifle back and is +covered thickly with ivy, while over the entrance-door of the shop +is a great round clock set in a green frame of clustering vine. +The hands pointed to one when I passed the watchmaker's garden with +its thicket of fragrant lavender and its murmuring bees; so I went +in to the sign of the "Strong i' the Arm" for some cold luncheon, +determining to patronise "The Running Footman" at the very next +opportunity. Neither of these inns is starred by Baedeker, and +this fact adds the last touch of enchantment to the picture. + +The landlady at the "Strong i' the Arm" stabbed me in the heart by +telling me that there were no apartments to let in the village, and +that she had no private sitting-room in the inn; but she speedily +healed the wound by saying that I might be accommodated at one of +the farm-houses in the vicinity. Did I object to a farm-'ouse? +Then she could cheerfully recommend the Evan's farm, only 'alf a +mile away. She 'ad understood from Miss Phoebe Evan, who sold her +poultry, that they would take one lady lodger if she didn't wish +much waiting upon. + +In my present mood I was in search of the strenuous life, and eager +to wait, rather than to be waited upon; so I walked along the edge +of the Green, wishing that some mentally unbalanced householder +would take a sudden fancy to me and ask me to come in and lodge +awhile. I suppose these families live under their roofs of peach- +blow tiles, in the midst of their blooming gardens, for a guinea a +week or thereabouts; yet if they "undertook" me (to use their own +phrase), the bill for my humble meals and bed would be at least +double that. I don't know that I blame them; one should have +proper compensation for admitting a world-stained lodger into such +an Eden. + +When I was searching for rooms a week ago, I chanced upon a pretty +cottage where the woman had sometimes let apartments. She showed +me the premises and asked me if I would mind taking my meals in her +own dining-room, where I could be served privately at certain +hours: and, since she had but the one sitting-room, would I allow +her to go on using it occasionally? also, if I had no special +preference, would I take the second-sized bedroom and leave her in +possession of the largest one, which permitted her to have the +baby's crib by her bedside? She thought I should be quite as +comfortable, and it was her opinion that in making arrangements +with lodgers, it was a good plan not to "bryke up the 'ome any more +than was necessary." + +"Bryke up the 'ome!" That is seemingly the malignant purpose with +which I entered Barbury Green. + + + +CHAPTER II + + + +July 4th. + +Enter the family of Thornycroft Farm, of which I am already a +member in good and regular standing. + +I introduce Mrs. Heaven first, for she is a self-saturated person +who would never forgive the insult should she receive any lower +place. + +She welcomed me with the statement: "We do not take lodgers here, +nor boarders; no lodgers, nor boarders, but we do occasionally +admit paying guests, those who look as if they would appreciate the +quietude of the plyce and be willing as you might say to remunerate +according." + +I did not mind at this particular juncture what I was called, so +long as the epithet was comparatively unobjectionable, so I am a +paying guest, therefore, and I expect to pay handsomely for the +handsome appellation. Mrs. Heaven is short and fat; she fills her +dress as a pin-cushion fills its cover; she wears a cap and apron, +and she is so full of platitudes that she would have burst had I +not appeared as a providential outlet for them. Her accent is not +of the farm, but of the town, and smacks wholly of the marts of +trade. She is repetitious, too, as well as platitudinous. "I 'ope +if there's anythink you require you will let us know, let us know," +she says several times each day; and whenever she enters my +sitting-room she prefaces her conversation with the remark: "I +trust you are finding it quiet here, miss? It's the quietude of +the plyce that is its charm, yes, the quietude. And yet" (she +dribbles on) "it wears on a body after a while, miss. I often go +into Woodmucket to visit one of my sons just for the noise, simply +for the noise, miss, for nothink else in the world but the noise. +There's nothink like noise for soothing nerves that is worn +threadbare with the quietude, miss, or at least that's my +experience; and yet to a strynger the quietude of the plyce is its +charm, undoubtedly its chief charm; and that is what our paying +guests always say, although our charges are somewhat higher than +other plyces. If there's anythink you require, miss, I 'ope you'll +mention it. There is not a commodious assortment in Barbury Green, +but we can always send the pony to Woodmucket in case of urgency. +Our paying guest last summer was a Mrs. Pollock, and she was by way +of having sudden fancies. Young and unmarried though you are, +miss, I think you will tyke my meaning without my speaking plyner? +Well, at six o'clock of a rainy afternoon, she was seized with an +unaccountable desire for vegetable marrows, and Mr. 'Eaven put the +pony in the cart and went to Woodmucket for them, which is a great +advantage to be so near a town and yet 'ave the quietude." + +Mr. Heaven is merged, like Mr. Jellyby, in the more shining +qualities of his wife. A line of description is too long for him. +Indeed, I can think of no single word brief enough, at least in +English. The Latin "nil" will do, since no language is rich in +words of less than three letters. He is nice, kind, bald, timid, +thin, and so colourless that he can scarcely be discerned save in a +strong light. When Mrs. Heaven goes out into the orchard in search +of him, I can hardly help calling from my window, "Bear a trifle to +the right, Mrs. Heaven--now to the left--just in front of you now-- +if you put out your hands you will touch him." + +Phoebe, aged seventeen, is the daughter of the house. She is +virtuous, industrious, conscientious, and singularly destitute of +physical charm. She is more than plain; she looks as if she had +been planned without any definite purpose in view, made of the +wrong materials, been badly put together, and never properly +finished off; but "plain" after all is a relative word. Many a +plain girl has been married for her beauty; and now and then a +beauty, falling under a cold eye, has been thought plain. + +Phoebe has her compensations, for she is beloved by, and +reciprocates the passion of, the Woodmancote carrier, Woodmucket +being the English manner of pronouncing the place of his abode. If +he "carries" as energetically for the great public as he fetches +for Phoebe, then he must be a rising and a prosperous man. He +brings her daily, wild strawberries, cherries, birds' nests, +peacock feathers, sea-shells, green hazel-nuts, samples of hens' +food, or bouquets of wilted field flowers tied together tightly and +held with a large, moist, loving hand. He has fine curly hair of +sandy hue, which forms an aureole on his brow, and a reddish beard, +which makes another inverted aureole to match, round his chin. One +cannot look at him, especially when the sun shines through him, +without thinking how lovely he would be if stuffed and set on +wheels, with a little string to drag him about. + +Phoebe confided to me that she was on the eve of loving the postman +when the carrier came across her horizon. + +"It doesn't do to be too hysty, does it, miss?" she asked me as we +were weeding the onion bed. "I was to give the postman his answer +on the Monday night, and it was on the Monday morning that Mr. +Gladwish made his first trip here as carrier. I may say I never +wyvered from that moment, and no more did he. When I think how +near I came to promising the postman it gives me a turn." (I can +understand that, for I once met the man I nearly promised years +before to marry, and we both experienced such a sense of relief at +being free instead of bound that we came near falling in love for +sheer joy.) + +The last and most important member of the household is the Square +Baby. His name is Albert Edward, and he is really five years old +and no baby at all; but his appearance on this planet was in the +nature of a complete surprise to all parties concerned, and he is +spoiled accordingly. He has a square head and jaw, square +shoulders, square hands and feet. He is red and white and solid +and stolid and slow-witted, as the young of his class commonly are, +and will make a bulwark of the nation in course of time, I should +think; for England has to produce a few thousand such square babies +every year for use in the colonies and in the standing army. +Albert Edward has already a military gait, and when he has acquired +a habit of obedience at all comparable with his power of command, +he will be able to take up the white man's burden with +distinguished success. Meantime I can never look at him without +marvelling how the English climate can transmute bacon and eggs, +tea and the solid household loaf into such radiant roses and lilies +as bloom upon his cheeks and lips. + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +July 8th. + +Thornycroft is by way of being a small poultry farm. + +In reaching it from Barbury Green, you take the first left-hand +road, go till you drop, and there you are. + +It reminds me of my "grandmother's farm at Older." Did you know +the song when you were a child? - + + +My grandmother had a very fine farm +'Way down in the fields of Older. +With a cluck-cluck here, +And a cluck-cluck there, +Here and there a cluck-cluck, +Cluck-cluck here and there, +Down in the fields at Older. + + +It goes on for ever by the simple subterfuge of changing a few +words in each verse. + + +My grandmother had a very fine farm +'Way down in the fields of Older. +With a quack-quack here, +And a quack-quack there, +Here and there a quack-quack, +Quack-quack here and there, +Down in the fields at Older. + + +This is followed by the gobble-gobble, moo-moo, baa-baa, etc., as +long as the laureate's imagination and the infant's breath hold +good. The tune is pretty, and I do not know, or did not, when I +was young, a more fascinating lyric. + +Thornycroft House must have belonged to a country gentleman once +upon a time, or to more than one; men who built on a bit here and +there once in a hundred years, until finally we have this +charmingly irregular and dilapidated whole. You go up three steps +into Mrs. Heaven's room, down two into mine, while Phoebe's is up +in a sort of turret with long, narrow lattices opening into the +creepers. There are crooked little stair-cases, passages that +branch off into other passages and lead nowhere in particular; I +can't think of a better house in which to play hide and seek on a +wet day. In front, what was once, doubtless, a green, is cut up +into greens; to wit, a vegetable garden, where the onions, turnips, +and potatoes grow cosily up to the very door-sill; the utilitarian +aspect of it all being varied by some scarlet-runners and a +scattering of poppies on either side of the path. + +The Belgian hares have their habitation in a corner fifty feet +distant; one large enclosure for poultry lies just outside the +sweetbrier hedge; the others, with all the houses and coops, are in +the meadow at the back, where also our tumbler pigeons are kept. + +Phoebe attends to the poultry; it is her department. Mr. Heaven +has neither the force nor the finesse required, and the gentle +reader who thinks these qualities unneeded in so humble a calling +has only to spend a few days at Thornycroft to be convinced. Mrs. +Heaven would be of use, but she is dressing the Square Baby in the +morning and putting him to bed at night just at the hours when the +feathered young things are undergoing the same operation. + +A Goose Girl, like a poet, is sometimes born, sometimes otherwise. +I am of the born variety. No training was necessary; I put my head +on my pillow as a complicated product of modern civilisation on a +Tuesday night, and on a Wednesday morning I awoke as a Goose Girl. + +My destiny slumbered during the day, but at eight o'clock I heard a +terrific squawking in the direction of the duck-ponds, and, +aimlessly drifting in that direction, I came upon Phoebe trying to +induce ducks and drakes, geese and ganders, to retire for the +night. They have to be driven into enclosures behind fences of +wire netting, fastened into little rat-proof boxes, or shut into +separate coops, so as to be safe from their natural enemies, the +rats and foxes; which, obeying, I suppose, the law of supply and +demand, abound in this neighbourhood. The old ganders are allowed +their liberty, being of such age, discretion, sagacity, and +pugnacity that they can be trusted to fight their own battles. + +The intelligence of hens, though modest, is of such an order that +it prompts them to go to bed at a virtuous hour of their own +accord; but ducks and geese have to be materially assisted, or I +believe they would roam till morning. Never did small boy detest +and resist being carried off to his nursery as these dullards, +young and old, detest and resist being driven to theirs. Whether +they suffer from insomnia, or nightmare, or whether they simply +prefer the sweet air of liberty (and death) to the odour of +captivity and the coop, I have no means of knowing. + +Phoebe stood by one of the duck-ponds, a long pole in her hand, and +a helpless expression in that doughlike countenance of hers, where +aimless contours and features unite to make a kind of facial blur. +(What does the carrier see in it?) The pole was not long enough to +reach the ducks, and Phoebe's method lacked spirit and adroitness, +so that it was natural, perhaps, that they refused to leave the +water, the evening being warm, with an uncommon fine sunset. + +I saw the situation at once and ran to meet it with a glow of +interest and anticipation. If there is anything in the world I +enjoy, it is making somebody do something that he doesn't want to +do; and if, when victory perches upon my banner, the somebody can +be brought to say that he ought to have done it without my making +him, that adds the unforgettable touch to pleasure, though seldom, +alas! does it happen. Then ensued the delightful and stimulating +hour that has now become a feature of the day; an hour in which the +remembrance of the table-d'hote dinner at the Hydro, going on at +identically the same time, only stirs me to a keener joy and +gratitude. + +The ducks swim round in circles, hide under the willows, and +attempt to creep into the rat-holes in the banks, a stupidity so +crass that it merits instant death, which it somehow always +escapes. Then they come out in couples and waddle under the wrong +fence into the lower meadow, fly madly under the tool-house, pitch +blindly in with the sitting hens, and out again in short order, all +the time quacking and squawking, honking and hissing like a +bewildered orchestra. By dint of splashing the water with poles, +throwing pebbles, beating the shrubs at the pond's edges, "shooing" +frantically with our skirts, crawling beneath bars to head them +off, and prodding them from under bushes to urge them on, we +finally get the older ones out of the water and the younger ones +into some sort of relation to their various retreats; but, owing to +their lack of geography, hatred of home, and general recalcitrancy, +they none of them turn up in the right place and have to be sorted +out. We uncover the top of the little house, or the enclosure as +it may be, or reach in at the door, and, seizing the struggling +victim, drag him forth and take him where he should have had the +wit to go in the first instance. The weak ones get in with the +strong and are in danger of being trampled; two May goslings that +look almost full-grown have run into a house with a brood of +ducklings a week old. There are twenty-seven crowded into one +coop, five in another, nineteen in another; the gosling with one +leg has to come out, and the duckling threatened with the gapes; +their place is with the "invaleeds," as Phoebe calls them, but they +never learn the location of the hospital, nor have the slightest +scruple about spreading contagious diseases. + +Finally, when we have separated and sorted exhaustively, an +operation in which Phoebe shows a delicacy of discrimination and a +fearlessness of attack amounting to genius, we count the entire +number and find several missing. Searching for their animate or +inanimate bodies, we "scoop" one from under the tool-house, chance +upon two more who are being harried and pecked by the big geese in +the lower meadow, and discover one sailing by himself in solitary +splendour in the middle of the deserted pond, a look of evil +triumph in his bead-like eye. Still we lack one young duckling, +and he at length is found dead by the hedge. A rat has evidently +seized him and choked him at a single throttle, but in such haste +that he has not had time to carry away the tiny body. + +"Poor think!" says Phoebe tearfully; "it looks as if it was 'it +with some kind of a wepping. I don't know whatever to do with the +rats, they're gettin' that fearocious!" + +Before I was admitted into daily contact with the living goose (my +previous intercourse with him having been carried on when gravy and +stuffing obscured his true personality), I thought him a very +Dreyfus among fowls, a sorely slandered bird, to whom justice had +never been done; for even the gentle Darwin is hard upon him. My +opinion is undergoing some slight modifications, but I withhold +judgment at present, hoping that some of the follies, faults, +vagaries, and limitations that I observe in Phoebe's geese may be +due to Phoebe's educational methods, which were, before my advent, +those of the darkest ages. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +July 9th. + +By the time the ducks and geese are incarcerated for the night, the +reasonable, sensible, practical-minded hens--especially those whose +mentality is increased and whose virtue is heightened by the +responsibilities of motherhood--have gone into their own particular +rat-proof boxes, where they are waiting in a semi-somnolent state +to have the wire doors closed, the bricks set against them, and the +bits of sacking flung over the tops to keep out the draught. We +have a great many young families, both ducklings and chicks, but we +have no duck mothers at present. The variety of bird which Phoebe +seems to have bred during the past year may be called the New Duck, +with certain radical ideas about woman's sphere. What will happen +to Thornycroft if we develop a New Hen and a New Cow, my +imagination fails to conceive. There does not seem to be the +slightest danger for the moment, however, and our hens lay and sit +and sit and lay as if laying and sitting were the twin purposes of +life. + +The nature of the hen seems to broaden with the duties of +maternity, but I think myself that we presume a little upon her +amiability and natural motherliness. It is one thing to desire a +family of one's own, to lay eggs with that idea in view, to sit +upon them three long weeks and hatch out and bring up a nice brood +of chicks. It must be quite another to have one's eggs abstracted +day by day and eaten by a callous public, the nest filled with +deceitful substitutes, and at the end of a dull and weary period of +hatching to bring into the world another person's children-- +children, too, of the wrong size, the wrong kind of bills and feet, +and, still more subtle grievance, the wrong kind of instincts, +leading them to a dangerous aquatic career, one which the mother +may not enter to guide, guard, and teach; one on the brink of which +she must ever stand, uttering dryshod warnings which are never +heeded. They grow used to this strange order of things after a +bit, it is true, and are less anxious and excited. When the duck- +brood returns safely again and again from what the hen-mother +thinks will prove a watery grave, she becomes accustomed to the +situation, I suppose. I find that at night she stands by the pond +for what she considers a decent, self-respecting length of time, +calling the ducklings out of the water; then, if they refuse to +come, the mother goes off to bed and leaves them to Providence, or +Phoebe. + +The brown hen that we have named Cornelia is the best mother, the +one who waits longest and most patiently for the web-footed Gracchi +to finish their swim. + +When a chick is taken out of the incubytor (as Phoebe calls it) and +refused by all the other hens, Cornelia generally accepts it, +though she had twelve of her own when we began using her as an +orphan asylum. "Wings are made to stretch," she seems to say +cheerfully, and with a kind glance of her round eye she welcomes +the wanderer and the outcast. She even tended for a time the +offspring of an absent-minded, light-headed pheasant who flew over +a four-foot wall and left her young behind her to starve; it was +not a New Pheasant, either; for the most conservative and old- +fashioned of her tribe occasionally commits domestic solecisms of +this sort. + +There is no telling when, where, or how the maternal instinct will +assert itself. Among our Thornycroft cats is a certain Mrs. +Greyskin. She had not been seen for many days, and Mrs. Heaven +concluded that she had hidden herself somewhere with a family of +kittens; but as the supply of that article with us more than equals +the demand, we had not searched for her with especial zeal. + +The other day Mrs. Greyskin appeared at the dairy door, and when +she had been fed Phoebe and I followed her stealthily, from a +distance. She walked slowly about as if her mind were quite free +from harassing care, and finally approached a deserted cow-house +where there was a great mound of straw. At this moment she caught +sight of us and turned in another direction to throw us off the +scent. We persevered in our intention of going into her probable +retreat, and were cautiously looking for some sign of life in the +haymow, when we heard a soft cackle and a ruffling of plumage. +Coming closer to the sound we saw a black hen brooding a nest, her +bright bead eyes turning nervously from side to side; and, coaxed +out from her protecting wings by youthful curiosity, came four +kittens, eyes wide open, warm, happy, ready for sport! + +The sight was irresistible, and Phoebe ran for Mr. and Mrs. Heaven +and the Square Baby. Mother Hen was not to be embarrassed or +daunted, even if her most sacred feelings were regarded in the +light of a cheap entertainment. She held her ground while one of +the kits slid up and down her glossy back, and two others, more +timid, crept underneath her breast, only daring to put out their +pink noses! We retired then for very shame and met Mrs. Greyskin +in the doorway. This should have thickened the plot, but there is +apparently no rivalry nor animosity between the co-mothers. We +watch them every day now, through a window in the roof. Mother +Greyskin visits the kittens frequently, lies down beside the home +nest, and gives them their dinner. While this is going on Mother +Blackwing goes modestly away for a bite, a sup, and a little +exercise, returning to the kittens when the cat leaves them. It is +pretty to see her settle down over the four, fat, furry dumplings, +and they seem to know no difference in warmth or comfort, whichever +mother is brooding them; while, as their eyes have been open for a +week, it can no longer be called a blind error on their part. + +When we have closed all our small hen-nurseries for the night, +there is still the large house inhabited by the thirty-two full- +grown chickens which Phoebe calls the broilers. I cannot endure +the term, and will not use it. "Now for the April chicks," I say +every evening. + +"Do you mean the broilers?" asks Phoebe. + +"I mean the big April chicks," say I. + +"Yes, them are the broilers," says she. + +But is it not disagreeable enough to be a broiler when one's time +comes, without having the gridiron waved in one's face for weeks +beforehand? + +The April chicks are all lively and desirous of seeing the world as +thoroughly as possible before going to roost or broil. As a +general thing, we find in the large house sixteen young fowls of +the contemplative, flavourless, resigned-to-the-inevitable variety; +three more (the same three every night) perch on the roof and are +driven down; four (always the same four) cling to the edge of the +open door, waiting to fly off, but not in, when you attempt to +close it; nine huddle together on a place in the grass about forty +feet distant, where a small coop formerly stood in the prehistoric +ages. This small coop was one in which they lodged for a fortnight +when they were younger, and when those absolutely indelible +impressions are formed of which we read in educational maxims. It +was taken away long since, but the nine loyal (or stupid) +Casabiancas cling to the sacred spot where its foundations rested; +they accordingly have to be caught and deposited bodily in the +house, and this requires strategy, as they note our approach from a +considerable distance. + +Finally all are housed but two, the little white cock and the black +pullet, who are still impish and of a wandering mind. Though +headed off in every direction, they fly into the hedges and hide in +the underbrush. We beat the hedge on the other side, but with no +avail. We dive into the thicket of wild roses, sweetbrier, and +thistles on our hands and knees, coming out with tangled hair, +scratched noses, and no hens. Then, when all has been done that +human ingenuity can suggest, Phoebe goes to her late supper and I +do sentry-work. I stroll to a safe distance, and, sitting on one +of the rat-proof boxes, watch the bushes with an eagle eye. Five +minutes go by, ten, fifteen; and then out steps the white cock, +stealthily tiptoeing toward the home into which he refused to go at +our instigation. In a moment out creeps the obstinate little beast +of a black pullet from the opposite clump. The wayward pair meet +at their own door, which I have left open a few inches. When all +is still I walk gently down the field, and, warned by previous +experiences, approach the house from behind. I draw the door to +softly and quickly; but not so quickly that the evil-minded and +suspicious black pullet hasn't time to spring out, with a make- +believe squawk of fright--that induces three other blameless +chickens to fly down from their perches and set the whole flock in +a flutter. Then I fall from grace and call her a Broiler; and +when, after some minutes of hot pursuit, I catch her by falling +over her in the corner by the goose-pen, I address her as a fat, +juicy Broiler with parsley butter and a bit of bacon. + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +July 10th. + +At ten thirty or so in the morning the cackling begins. I wonder +exactly what it means! Have the forest-lovers who listen so +respectfully to, and interpret so exquisitely, the notes of birds-- +have none of them made psychological investigations of the hen +cackle? Can it be simple elation? One could believe that of the +first few eggs, but a hen who has laid two or three hundred can +hardly feel the same exuberant pride and joy daily. Can it be the +excitement incident to successful achievement? Hardly, because the +task is so extremely simple. Eggs are more or less alike; a little +larger or smaller, a trifle whiter or browner; and almost sure to +be quite right as to details; that is, the big end never gets +confused with the little end, they are always ovoid and never +spherical, and the yolk is always inside of the white. As for a +soft-shelled egg, it is so rare an occurrence that the fear of +laying one could not set the whole race of hens in a panic; so +there really cannot be any intellectual or emotional agitation in +producing a thing that might be made by a machine. Can it be +simply "fussiness"; since the people who have the least to do +commonly make the most flutter about doing it? + +Perhaps it is merely conversation. "Cut-cut-cut-cut-cut-DAHcut! . +. . I have finished my strictly fresh egg, have you laid yours? +Make haste, then, for the cock has found a gap in the wire-fence +and wants us to wander in the strawberry-bed. . . . Cut-cut-cut- +cut-cut-DAHcut . . . Every moment is precious, for the Goose Girl +will find us, when she gathers the strawberries for her luncheon . +. . Cut-cut-cut-cut! On the way out we can find sweet places to +steal nests . . . Cut-cut-cut! . . . I am so glad I am not sitting +this heavenly morning; it IS a dull life. + +A Lancashire poultry-man drifted into Barbury Green yesterday. He +is an old acquaintance of Mr. Heaven, and spent the night and part +of the next day at Thornycroft Farm. He possessed a deal of fowl +philosophy, and tells many a good hen story, which, like fish +stories, draw rather largely on the credulity of the audience. We +were sitting in the rickyard talking comfortably about laying and +cackling and kindred matters when he took his pipe from his mouth +and told us the following tale--not a bad one if you can translate +the dialect:- + +'Aw were once towd as, if yo' could only get th' hen's egg away +afooar she hed sin it, th' hen 'ud think it hed med a mistek an' +sit deawn ageean an' lay another. + +'An' it seemed to me it were a varra sensible way o' lukkin' at it. +Sooa aw set to wark to mek a nest as 'ud tek a rise eawt o' th' +hens. An' aw dud it too. Aw med a nest wi' a fause bottom, th' +idea bein' as when a hen hed laid, th' egg 'ud drop through into a +box underneyth. + +'Aw felt varra preawd o' that nest, too, aw con tell yo', an' aw +remember aw felt quite excited when aw see an awd black Minorca, +th' best layer as aw hed, gooa an' settle hersel deawn i' th' nest +an' get ready for wark. Th' hen seemed quite comfortable enough, +aw were glad to see, an' geet through th' operation beawt ony +seemin' trouble. + +"Well, aw darsay yo' know heaw a hen carries on as soon as it's +laid a egg. It starts "chuckin'" away like a showman's racket, an' +after tekkin' a good Ink at th' egg to see whether it's a big 'un +or a little 'un, gooas eawt an' tells all t'other hens abeawt it. + +"Neaw, this black Minorca, as aw sed, were a owdish bird, an' maybe +knew mooar than aw thowt. Happen it hed laid on a nest wi' a fause +bottom afooar, an' were up to th' trick, but whether or not, aw +never see a hen luk mooar disgusted i' mi life when it lukked i' +th' nest an' see as it hed hed all that trouble fer nowt. + +"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 hen--not 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 families--it would not be +profitable; and the older mother, having been tried and found +faithful over seven, has been given the other nine and accepted +them. What of the bereft one? She is miserable and stands about +moping and forlorn, but it is no use fighting against the +inevitable; hens' hearts must obey the same laws that govern the +rotation of crops. Catherine of Aragon feels her lot a bitter one +just now, but in time she will succumb, and lay, which is more to +the point. + +We have had a very busy evening, beginning with the rats' supper-- +delicate sandwiches of bread-and-butter spread with Paris green. + +We have a new brood of seventeen ducklings just hatched this +afternoon. When we came to the nest the yellow and brown bunches +of down and fluff were peeping out from under the hen's wings in +the prettiest fashion in the world. + +"It's a noble hen!" I said to Phoebe. + +"She ain't so nowble as she looks," Phoebe answered grimly. "It +was another 'en that brooded these eggs for near on three weeks and +then this big one come along with a fancy she'd like a family +'erself if she could steal one without too much trouble; so she +drove the rightful 'en off the nest, finished up the last few days, +and 'ere she is in possession of the ducklings!" + +"Why don't you take them away from her and give them back to the +first hen, who did most of the work?" I asked, with some spirit. + +"Like as not she wouldn't tyke them now," said Phoebe, as she +lifted the hen off the broken egg-shells and moved her gently into +a clean box, on a bed of fresh hay. We put food and drink within +reach of the family, and very proud and handsome that highway +robber of a hen looked, as she stretched her wings over the +seventeen easily-earned ducklings. + +Going back to the old nesting-box, I found one egg forgotten among +the shells. It was still warm, and I took it up to run across the +field with it to Phoebe. It was heavy, and the carrying of it was +a queer sensation, inasmuch as it squirmed and "yipped" +vociferously in transit, threatening so unmistakably to hatch in my +hand that I was decidedly nervous. The intrepid little youngster +burst his shell as he touched Phoebe's apron, and has become the +strongest and handsomest of the brood. + +All this tending of downy young things, this feeding and putting to +bed, this petting and nursing and rearing, is such pretty, +comforting woman's work. I am sure Phoebe will make a better wife +to the carrier for having been a poultry-maid, and though good +enough for most practical purposes when I came here, I am an +infinitely better woman now. I am afraid I was not particularly +nice the last few days at the Hydro. Such a lot of dull, prosy, +inquisitive, bothering old tabbies! Aunt Margaret furnishing +imaginary symptoms enough to keep a fond husband and two trained +nurses distracted; a man I had never encouraged in my life coming +to stay in the neighbourhood and turning up daily for rejection; +another man taking rooms at the very hotel with the avowed purpose +of making my life a burden; and on the heels of both, a widow of +thirty-five in full chase! Small wonder I thought it more +dignified to retire than to compete, and so I did. + +I need not, however, have cut the threads that bound me to +Oxenbridge with such particularly sharp scissors, nor given them +such a vicious snap; for, so far as I can observe, the little world +of which I imagined myself the sun continues to revolve, and, +probably, about some other centre. I can well imagine who has +taken up that delightful but somewhat exposed and responsible +position--it would be just like her! + +I am perfectly happy where I am; it is not that; but it seems so +strange that they can be perfectly happy without me, after all that +they--after all that was said on the subject not many days ago. +Nothing turns out as one expects. There have been no hot pursuits, +no rewards offered, no bills posted, no printed placards issued +describing the beauty and charms of a young person who supposed +herself the cynosure of every eye. Heigh-ho! What does it matter, +after all? One can always be a Goose Girl! + +* * * + +I wonder if the hen mother is quite, quite satisfied with her +ducklings! Do you suppose the fact of hatching and brooding them +breaks down all the sense of difference? Does she not sometimes +reflect that if her children were the ordinary sort, and not these +changelings, she would be enjoying certain pretty little attentions +dear to a mother's heart? The chicks would be pecking the food off +her broad beak with their tiny ones, and jumping on her back to +slide down her glossy feathers. They would be far nicer to cuddle, +too, so small and graceful and light; the changelings are a trifle +solid and brawny. And personally, just as a matter of taste, would +she not prefer wee, round, glancing heads, and pointed beaks, +peeping from under her wings, to these teaspoon-shaped things +larger than her own? I wonder! + +We are training fourteen large young chickens to sit on the perches +in their new house, instead of huddling together on the floor as +has been their habit, because we discover rat-holes under the wire +flooring occasionally, and fear that toes may be bitten. At nine +o'clock Phoebe and I lift the chickens one by one, and, as it were, +glue them to their perches, squawking. Three nights have we gone +patiently through with this performance, but they have not learned +the lesson. The ducks and geese are, however, greatly improved by +the application of advanced educational methods, and the regime of +perfect order and system instituted by Me begins to show results. + +There is no more violent splashing and pebbling, racing, chasing, +separating. The pole, indeed, still has to be produced, but at the +first majestic wave of my hand they scuttle toward the shore. The +geese turn to the right, cross the rickyard, and go to their pen; +the May ducks turn to the left for their coops, the June ducks +follow the hens to the top meadow, and even the idiot gosling has +an inspiration now and then and stumbles on his own habitation. + +Mrs. Heaven has no reverence for the principles of Comenius, +Pestalozzi, or Herbert Spencer as applied to poultry, and when the +ducks and geese came out of the pond badly the other night and went +waddling and tumbling and hissing all over creation, did not +approve of my sending them back into the pond to start afresh. + +"I consider it a great waste of time, of good time, miss," she +said; "and, after all, do you consider that educated poultry will +be any better eating, or that it will lay more than one egg a day, +miss?" + +I have given the matter some attention, and I fear Mrs. Heaven is +right. A duck, a goose, or a hen in which I have developed a +larger brain, implanted a sense of duty, or instilled an idea of +self-government, is likely, on the whole, to be leaner, not fatter. +There is nothing like obeying the voice of conscience for taking +the flesh off one's bones; and, speaking of conscience, Phoebe, +whose metaphysics are of the farm farmy, says that hers "felt like +a hunlaid hegg for dyes" after she had jilted the postman. + +As to the eggs, I am sure the birds will go on laying one a day for +'tis their nature to. Whether the product of the intelligent, +conscious, logical fowl, will be as rich in quality as that of the +uneducated and barbaric bird, I cannot say; but it ought at least +to be equal to the Denmark egg eaten now by all Londoners; and if, +perchance, left uneaten, it is certain to be a very superior wife +and mother. + +While we are discussing the subject of educating poultry, I confess +that the case of Cannibal Ann gives me much anxiety. Twice in her +short career has she been under suspicion of eating her own eggs, +but Phoebe has never succeeded in catching her in flagrante +delicto. That eminent detective service was reserved for me, and I +have been haunted by the picture ever since. It is an awful sight +to witness a hen gulp her own newly-laid fresh egg, yolk, white, +shell, and all; to realise that you have fed, sheltered, chased, +and occasionally run in, a being possessed of no moral sense, a +being likely to set a bad example, inculcate vicious habits among +her innocent sisters, and lower the standard of an entire poultry- +yard. The Young Poultry Keeper's Friend gives us no advice on this +topic, and we do not know whether to treat Cannibal Ann as the +victim of a disease, or as a confirmed criminal; whether to +administer remedies or cut her off in the flower of her youth. + +We have had a sad scene to-night. A chick has been ailing all day, +and when we shut up the brood we found him dead in a corner. + +Phoebe put him on the ground while she busied herself about the +coop. The other chicks came out and walked about the dead one +again and again, eyeing him curiously. + +"Poor little chap!" said Phoebe. "E's never 'ad a mother! 'E was +an incubytor chicken, and wherever I took 'im 'e was picked at. +There was somethink wrong with 'im; 'e never was a fyvorite!" + +I put the fluffy body into a hole in the turf, and strewed a +handful of grass over him. "Sad little epitaph!" I thought. "He +never was a fyvorite!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + + +July 13th. + +I like to watch the Belgian hares eating their trifolium or pea- +pods or grass; graceful, gentle things they are, crowding about Mr. +Heaven, and standing prettily, not greedily, on their hind legs, to +reach for the clover, their delicate nostrils and whiskers all a- +quiver with excitement. + +As I look out of my window in the dusk I can see one of the mothers +galloping across the enclosure, the soft white lining of her tail +acting as a beacon-light to the eight infant hares following her, a +quaint procession of eight white spots in it glancing line. In the +darkest night those baby creatures could follow their mother +through grass or hedge or thicket, and she would need no warning +note to show them where to flee in case of danger. "All you have +to do is to follow the white night-light that I keep in the lining +of my tail," she says, when she is giving her first maternal +lectures; and it seems a beneficent provision of Nature. To be +sure, Mr. Heaven took his gun and went out to shoot wild rabbits +to-day, and I noted that he marked them by those same self- +betraying tails, as they scuttled toward their holes or leaped +toward the protecting cover of the hedge; so it does not appear +whether Nature is on the side of the farmer or the rabbit . . . + +There is as much comedy and as much tragedy in poultry life as +anywhere, and already I see rifts within lutes. We have in a cage +a French gentleman partridge married to a Hungarian lady of +defective sight. He paces back and forth in the pen restlessly, +anything but content with the domestic fireside. One can see +plainly that he is devoted to the Boulevards, and that if left to +his own inclinations he would never have chosen any spouse but a +thorough Parisienne. + +The Hungarian lady is blind of one eye, from some stray shot, I +suppose. She is melancholy at all times, and occasionally goes so +far as to beat her head against the wire netting. If liberated, +Mr. Heaven says that her blindness would only expose her to death +at the hands of the first sportsman, and it always seems to me as +if she knows this, and is ever trying to decide whether a loveless +marriage is any better than the tomb. + +Then, again, the great, grey gander is, for some mysterious reason, +out of favour with the entire family. He is a noble and amiable +bird, by far the best all-round character in the flock, for dignity +of mien and large-minded common-sense. What is the treatment +vouchsafed to this blameless husband and father? One that puts +anybody out of sorts with virtue and its scant rewards. To begin +with, the others will not allow him to go into the pond. There is +an organised cabal against it, and he sits solitary on the bank, +calm and resigned, but, naturally, a trifle hurt. His favourite +retreat is a tiny sort of island on the edge of the pool under the +alders, where with his bent head, and red-rimmed philosophic eyes +he regards his own breast and dreams of happier days. When the +others walk into the country twenty-three of them keep together, +and Burd Alane (as I have named him from the old ballad) walks by +himself. The lack of harmony is so evident here, and the slight so +intentional and direct, that it almost moves me to tears. The +others walk soberly, always in couples, but even Burd Alane's +rightful spouse is on the side of the majority, and avoids her +consort. + +What is the nature of his offence? There can be no connubial +jealousies, I judge, as geese are strictly monogamous, and having +chosen a partner of their joys and sorrows they cleave to each +other until death or some other inexorable circumstance does them +part. If they are ever mistaken in their choice, and think they +might have done better, the world is none the wiser. Burd Alane +looks in good condition, but Phoebe thinks he is not quite himself, +and that some day when he is in greater strength he will turn on +his foes and rend them, regaining thus his lost prestige, for +formerly he was king of the flock. + +* * * + +Phoebe has not a vestige of sentiment. She just asked me if I +would have a duckling or a gosling for dinner; that there were two +quite ready--the brown and yellow duckling, that is the last to +leave the water at night, and the white gosling that never knows +his own 'ouse. Which would I 'ave, and would I 'ave it with sage +and onion? + +Now, had I found a duckling on the table at dinner I should have +eaten it without thinking at all, or with the thought that it had +come from Barbury Green. But eat a duckling that I have stoned out +of the pond, pursued up the bank, chased behind the wire netting, +caught, screaming, in a corner, and carried struggling to his bed? +Feed upon an idiot gosling that I have found in nine different +coops on nine successive nights--in with the newly-hatched chicks, +the half-grown pullets, the setting hen, the "invaleed goose," the +drake with the gapes, the old ducks in the pen?--Eat a gosling that +I have caught and put in with his brothers and sisters (whom he +never recognises) so frequently and regularly that I am familiar +with every joint in his body? + +In the first place, with my own small bump of locality and lack of +geography, I would never willingly consume a creature who might, by +some strange process of assimilation, make me worse in this +respect; in the second place, I should have to be ravenous indeed +to sit down deliberately and make a meal of an intimate friend, no +matter if I had not a high opinion of his intelligence. I should +as soon think of eating the Square Baby, stuffed with sage and +onion and garnished with green apple-sauce, as the yellow duckling +or the idiot gosling. + +Mrs. Heaven has just called me into her sitting-room, ostensibly to +ask me to order breakfast, but really for the pleasure of +conversation. Why she should inquire whether I would relish some +gammon of bacon with eggs, when she knows that there has not been, +is not now, and never will be, anything but gammon of bacon with +eggs, is more than I can explain. + +"Would you like to see my flowers, miss?" she asks, folding her +plump hands over her white apron. "They are looking beautiful this +morning. I am so fond of potted plants, of plants in pots. Look +at these geraniums! Now, I consider that pink one a perfect bloom; +yes, a perfect bloom. This is a fine red one, is it not, miss? +Especially fine, don't you think? The trouble with the red variety +is that they're apt to get "bobby" and have to be washed regularly; +quite bobby they do get indeed, I assure you. That white one has +just gone out of blossom, and it was really wonderful. You could +'ardly have told it from a paper flower, miss, not from a white +paper flower. My plants are my children nowadays, since Albert +Edward is my only care. I have been the mother of eleven children, +miss, all of them living, so far as I know; I know nothing to the +contrary. I 'ope you are not wearying of this solitary place, +miss? It will grow upon you, I am sure, as it did upon Mrs. +Pollock, with all her peculiar fancies, and as it 'as grown upon +us.--We formerly had a butcher's shop in Buffington, and it was +naturally a great responsibility. Mr. Heaven's nerves are not +strong, and at last he wanted a life of more quietude, more +quietude was what he craved. The life of a retail butcher is a +most exciting and wearying one. Nobody satisfied with their meat; +as if it mattered in a world of change! Everybody complaining of +too much bone or too little fat; nobody wishing tough chops or +cutlets, but always seeking after fine joints, when it's against +reason and nature that all joints should be juicy and all cutlets +tender; always complaining if livers are not sent with every fowl, +always asking you to remember the trimmin's, always wanting their +beef well 'ung, and then if you 'ang it a minute too long, it's +left on your 'ands! I often used to say to Mr. Heaven, yes many's +the time I've said it, that if people would think more of the great +'ereafter and less about their own little stomachs, it would be a +deal better for them, yes, a deal better, and make it much more +comfortable for the butchers!" + +* * * + +Burd Alane has had a good quarter of an hour to-day. + +His spouse took a brief promenade with him. To be sure, it was +during an absence of the flock on the other side of the hedge so +that the moral effect of her spasm of wifely loyalty was quite lost +upon them. I strongly suspect that she would not have granted +anything but a secret interview. What a petty, weak, ignoble +character! I really don't like to think so badly of any fellow- +creature as I am forced to think of that politic, time-serving, +pusillanimous goose. I believe she laid the egg that produced the +idiot gosling! + + + +CHAPTER IX + + + +Here follows the true story of Sir Muscovy Drake, the Lady Blanche, +and Miss Malardina Crippletoes. + +Phoebe's flock consisted at first mostly of Brown Mallards, but a +friend gave her a sitting of eggs warranted to produce a most +beautiful variety of white ducks. They were hatched in due time, +but proved hard to raise, till at length there was only one +survivor, of such uncommon grace and beauty that we called her the +Lady Blanche. Presently a neighbour sold Phoebe his favourite +Muscovy drake, and these two splendid creatures by "natural +selection" disdained to notice the rest of the flock, but forming a +close friendship, wandered in the pleasant paths of duckdom +together, swimming and eating quite apart from the others. + +In the brown flock there was one unfortunate, misshapen from the +egg, quite lame, and with no smoothness of plumage; but on that +very account, apparently, or because she was too weak to resist +them, the others treated her cruelly, biting her and pushing her +away from the food. + +One day it happened that the two ducks--Sir Muscovy and Lady +Blanche--had come up from the water before the others, and having +taken their repast were sitting together under the shade of a +flowering currant-bush, when they chanced to see poor Miss +Crippletoes very badly used and crowded away from the dish. Sir +Muscovy rose to his feet; a few rapid words seemed to pass between +him and his mate, and then he fell upon the other drake and the +heartless minions who had persecuted the helpless one, drove them +far away out of sight, and, returning, went to the corner where the +victim was cowering, her face to the wall. He seemed to whisper to +her, or in some way to convey to her a sense of protection; for +after a few moments she tremblingly went with him to the dish, and +hurriedly ate her dinner while he stood by, repulsing the advances +of the few brown ducks who remained near and seemed inclined to +attack her. + +When she had eaten enough Lady Blanche joined them, and they went +down the hill together to their favourite swimming-place. After +that Miss Crippletoes always followed a little behind her +protectors, and thus shielded and fed she grew stronger and well- +feathered, though she was always smaller than she should have been +and had a lowly manner, keeping a few steps in the rear of her +superiors and sitting at some distance from their noon resting- +place. + +Phoebe noticed after a while that Lady Blanche was seldom to be +seen, and Sir Muscovy and Miss Crippletoes often came to their +meals without her. The would-be mother refused to inhabit the +house Phoebe had given her, and for a long time the place she had +chosen for her sitting could not be found. At length the Square +Baby discovered her in a most ideal spot. A large boulder had +dropped years ago into the brook that fills our duck-pond; dropped +and split in halves with the two smooth walls leaning away from +each other. A grassy bank towered behind, and on either side of +the opening, tall bushes made a miniature forest where the romantic +mother could brood her treasures while her two guardians enjoyed +the water close by her retreat. + +All this happened before my coming to Thornycroft Farm, but it was +I who named the hero and heroines of the romance when Phoebe had +told me all the particulars. Yesterday morning I was sitting by my +open window. It was warm, sunny, and still, but in the country +sounds travel far, and I could hear fowl conversation in various +parts of the poultry-yard as well as in all the outlying bits of +territory occupied by our feathered friends. Hens have only three +words and a scream in their language, but ducks, having more +thoughts to express, converse quite fluently, so fluently, in fact, +that it reminds me of dinner at the Hydropathic Hotel. I fancy I +have learned to distinguish seven separate sounds, each varied by +degrees of intensity, and with upward or downward inflections like +the Chinese tongue. + +In the distance, then, I heard the faint voice of a duck calling as +if breathless and excited. While I wondered what was happening, I +saw Miss Crippletoes struggling up the steep bank above the duck- +pond. It was the quickest way from the water to the house, but +difficult for the little lame webbed feet. When she reached the +level grass sward she sank down a moment, exhausted; but when she +could speak again she cried out, a sharp staccato call, and ran +forward. + +Instantly she was answered from a distant knoll, where for some +reason Sir Muscovy loved to retire for meditation. The cries grew +lower and softer as the birds approached each other, and they met +at the corner just under my window. Instantly they put their two +bills together and the loud cries changed to confiding murmurs. +Evidently some hurried questions and answers passed between them, +and then Sir Muscovy waddled rapidly by the quickest path, Miss +Crippletoes following him at a slower pace, and both passed out of +sight, using their wings to help their feet down the steep +declivity. The next morning, when I wakened early, my first +thought was to look out, and there on the sunny greensward where +they were accustomed to be fed, Sir Muscovy, Lady Blanche, and +their humble maid, Malardina Crippletoes, were scattering their own +breakfast before the bills of twelve beautiful golden balls of +ducklings. The little creatures could never have climbed the bank, +but must have started from their nest at dawn, coming round by the +brook to the level at the foot of the garden, and so by slow +degrees up to the house. + +Judging from what I heard and knew of their habits, I am sure the +excitement of the previous morning was occasioned by the hatching +of the eggs, and that Lady Blanche had hastily sent her friend to +call Sir Muscovy, the family remaining together until they could +bring the babies with them and display their beauty to Phoebe and +me. + + + +CHAPTER X + + + +July 14th. + +We are not wholly without the pleasures of the town in Barbury +Green. Once or twice in a summer, late on a Saturday afternoon, a +procession of red and yellow vans drives into a field near the +centre of the village. By the time the vans are unpacked all the +children in the community are surrounding the gate of entrance. +There is rifle-shooting, there is fortune-telling, there are games +of pitch and toss, and swings, and French bagatelle; and, to crown +all, a wonderful orchestrion that goes by steam. The water is +boiled for the public's tea, and at the same time thrilling strains +of melody are flung into the air. There is at present only one +tune in the orchestrion's repertory, but it is a very good tune; +though after hearing it three hundred and seven times in a single +afternoon, it pursues one, sleeping and waking, for the next week. +Phoebe and I took the Square Baby and went in to this diversified +entertainment. There was a small crowd of children at the +entrance, but as none of them seemed to be provided with pennies, +and I felt in a fairy godmother mood, I offered them the freedom of +the place at my expense. + +I never purchased more radiant good-will for less money, but the +combined effect of the well-boiled tea and the boiling orchestrion +produced many village nightmares, so the mothers told me at chapel +next morning. + +* * * + +I have many friends in Barbury Green, and often have a pleasant +chat with the draper, and the watch-maker, and the chemist. + +The last house on the principal street is rather an ugly one, with +especially nice window curtains. As I was taking my daily walk to +the post-office (an entirely unfruitful expedition thus far, as +nobody has taken the pains to write to me) I saw a nursemaid coming +out of the gate, wheeling a baby in a perambulator. She was going +placidly away from the Green when, far in the distance, she espied +a man walking rapidly toward us, a heavy Gladstone bag in one hand. +She gazed fixedly for a moment, her eyes brightening and her cheeks +flushing with pleasure,--whoever it was, it was an unexpected +arrival;--then she retraced her steps and, running up the garden- +path, opened the front door and held an excited colloquy with +somebody; a slender somebody in a nice print gown and neatly- +dressed hair, who came to the gate and peeped beyond the hedge +several times, drawing back between peeps with smiles and +heightened colour. She did not run down the road, even when she +had satisfied herself of the identity of the traveller; perhaps +that would not have been good form in an English village, for there +were houses on the opposite side of the way. She waited until he +opened the gate, the nursemaid took the bag and looked discreetly +into the hedge, then the mistress slipped her hand through the +traveller's arm and walked up the path as if she had nothing else +in the world to wish for. The nurse had a part in the joy, for she +lifted the baby out of the perambulator and showed proudly how much +he had grown. + +It was a dear little scene, and I, a passer-by, had shared in it +and felt better for it. I think their content was no less because +part of it had enriched my life, for happiness, like mercy, is +twice blessed; it blesses those who are most intimately associated +in it, and it blesses all those who see it, hear it, feel it, touch +it, or breathe the same atmosphere. A laughing, crowing baby in a +house, one cheerful woman singing about her work, a boy whistling +at the plough, a romance just suspected, with its miracle of two +hearts melting into one--the wind's always in the west when you +have any of these wonder-workers in your neighbourhood. + +I have talks too, sometimes, with the old parson, who lives in a +quaint house with "Parva Domus Magna Quies" cut into the stone over +the doorway. He is not a preaching parson, but a retired one, +almost the nicest kind, I often think. + +He has been married thirty years, he tells me; thirty years, spent +in the one little house with the bricks painted red and grey +alternately, and the scarlet holly-hocks growing under the windows. +I am sure they have been sweet, true, kind years, and that his +heart must be a quiet, peaceful place just like his house and +garden. + +"I was only eleven years old when I fell in love with my wife," he +told me as we sat on the seat under the lime-tree; he puffing +cosily at his pipe, I plaiting grasses for a hatband. + +"It was just before Sunday-school. Her mother had dressed her all +in white muslin like a fairy, but she had stepped on the edge of a +puddle, and some of the muddy water had bespattered her frock. A +circle of children had surrounded her, and some of the motherly +little girls were on their knees rubbing at the spots anxiously, +while one of them wiped away the tears that were running down her +pretty cheeks. I looked! It was fatal! I did not look again, but +I was smitten to the very heart! I did not speak to her for six +years, but when I did, it was all right with both of us, thank God! +and I've been in love with her ever since, when she behaves +herself!" + +That is the way they speak of love in Barbury Green, and oh! how +much sweeter and more wholesome it is than the language of the +town! Who would not be a Goose Girl, "to win the secret of the +weed's plain heart"? It seems to me that in society we are always +gazing at magic-lantern shows, but here we rest our tired eyes with +looking at the stars. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + + +July 16th. + +Phoebe and I have been to a Hen Conference at Buffington. It was +for the purpose of raising the standard of the British Hen, and our +local Countess, who is much interested in poultry, was in the +chair. + +It was a very learned body, but Phoebe had coached me so well that +at the noon recess I could talk confidently with the members, +discussing the various advantages of True and Crossed Minorcas, +Feverels, Andalusians, Cochin Chinas, Shanghais, and the White +Leghorn. (Phoebe, when she pronounces this word, leaves out the +"h" and bears down heavily on the last syllable, so that it rhymes +with begone!) + +As I was sitting under the trees waiting for Phoebe to finish some +shopping in the village, a travelling poultry-dealer came along and +offered to sell me a silver Wyandotte pullet and cockerel. This +was a new breed to me and I asked the price, which proved to be +more than I should pay for a hat in Bond Street. I hesitated, +thinking meantime what a delightful parting gift they would be for +Phoebe; I mean if we ever should part, which seems more and more +unlikely, as I shall never leave Thornycroft until somebody comes +properly to fetch me; indeed, unless the "fetching" is done +somewhat speedily I may decline to go under any circumstances. My +indecision as to the purchase was finally banished when the +poultryman asserted that the fowls had clear open centres all over, +black lacing entirely round the white centres, were free from white +edging, and each had a cherry-red eye. This catalogue of charms +inflamed my imagination, though it gave me no mental picture of a +silver Wyandotte fowl, and I paid the money while the dealer +crammed the chicks, squawking into my five-o'clock tea-basket. + +The afternoon session of the conference was most exciting, for we +reached the subject of imported eggs, an industry that is assuming +terrifying proportions. The London hotel egg comes from Denmark, +it seems,--I should think by sailing vessel, not steamer, but I may +be wrong. After we had settled that the British Hen should be +protected and encouraged, and agreed solemnly to abstain from +Danish eggs in any form, and made a resolution stating that our +loyalty to Queen Alexandra would remain undiminished, we argued the +subject of hen diet. There was a great difference of opinion here +and the discussion was heated; the honorary treasurer standing for +pulped mangold and flint grit, the chair insisting on barley meal +and randans, while one eloquent young woman declared, to loud cries +of "'Ear, 'ear!" that rice pudding and bone chips produce more eggs +to the square hen than any other sort of food. Impassioned orators +arose here and there in the audience demanding recognition for beef +scraps, charcoal, round corn or buckwheat. Foods were regarded +from various standpoints: as general invigorators, growth +assisters, and egg producers. A very handsome young farmer carried +off final honours, and proved to the satisfaction of all the +feminine poultry-raisers that green young hog bones fresh cut in +the Banner Bone Breaker (of which he was the agent) possessed a +nutritive value not to be expressed in human language. + +Phoebe was distinctly nervous when I rose to say a few words on +poultry breeding, announcing as my topic "Mothers, Stepmothers, +Foster-Mothers, and Incubators." Protected by the consciousness +that no one in the assemblage could possibly know me, I made a +distinct success in my maiden speech; indeed, I somewhat overshot +the mark, for the Countess in the chair sent me a note asking me to +dine with her that evening. I suppressed the note and took Phoebe +away before the proceedings were finished, vanishing from the scene +of my triumphs like a veiled prophet. + +Just as we were passing out the door we paused to hear the report +of a special committee whose chairman read the following +resolutions:- + +WHEREAS,--It has pleased the Almighty to remove from our midst our +greatest Rose Comb Buff Orpington fancier and esteemed friend, +Albert Edward Sheridain; therefore be it + +RESOLVED,--That the next edition of our catalogue contain an +illustrated memorial page in his honour and + +RESOLVED,--That the Rose Comb Buff Orpington Club extend to the +bereaved family their heartfelt sympathy. + +The handsome young farmer followed us out to our trap, invited us +to attend the next meeting of the R. C. B. O. Club, of which he was +the secretary, and asked if I were intending to "show." I +introduced Phoebe as the senior partner, and she concealed the fact +that we possessed but one Buff Orpington, and he was a sad +"invaleed" not suitable for exhibition. The farmer's expression as +he looked at me was almost lover-like, and when he pressed a bit of +paper into my hand I was sure it must be an offer of marriage. It +was in fact only a circular describing the Banner Bone Breaker. It +closed with an appeal to Buff Orpington breeders to raise and ever +raise the standard, bidding them remember, in the midst of a low- +minded and sordid civilisation, that the rose comb should be small +and neat, firmly set on, with good working, a nice spike at the +back lying well down to head, and never, under any circumstances, +never sticking up. This adjuration somewhat alarmed us as Phoebe +and I had been giving our Buff Orpington cockerel the most drastic +remedies for his languid and prostrate comb. + +Coming home we alighted from the trap to gather hogweed for the +rabbits. I sat by the wayside lazily and let Phoebe gather the +appetising weed, which grows along the thorniest hedges in close +proximity to nettles and thistles. + +Workmen were trudging along with their luncheon-baskets of woven +bulrushes slung over their shoulders. Fields of ripening grain lay +on either hand, the sun shining on their every shade of green and +yellow, bronze and orange, while the breeze stirred the bearded +barley into a rippling golden sea. + +Phoebe asked me if the people I had left behind at the Hydropathic +were my relatives. + +"Some of them are of remote consanguinity," I responded evasively, +and the next question was hushed upon her awe-stricken tongue, as I +intended. + +"They are obeying my wish to be let alone, there's no doubt of +that," I was thinking. "For my part, I like a little more spirit, +and a little less "letter"!" + +As the word "letter" flitted through my thoughts, I pulled one from +my pocket and glanced through it carelessly. It arrived, somewhat +tardily, only last night, or I should not have had it with me. I +wore the same dress to the post-office yesterday that I wore to the +Hen Conference to-day, and so it chanced to be still in the pocket. +If it had been anything I valued, of course I should have lost or +destroyed it by mistake; it is only silly, worthless little things +like this that keep turning up and turning up after one has +forgotten their existence. + + +"You are a mystery!" [it ran.] "I can apprehend, but not +comprehend you. I know you in part. I understand various bits of +your nature; but my knowledge is always fragmentary and +disconnected, and when I attempt to make a whole of the mosaics I +merely get a kaleidoscopic effect. Do you know those geographical +dissected puzzles that they give to children? You remind me of one +of them. + +"I have spent many charming (and dangerous) hours trying to "put +you together"; but I find, when I examine my picture closely, that +after all I've made a purple mountain grow out of a green tree; +that my river is running up a steep hillside; and that the pretty +milkmaid, who should be wandering in the forest, is standing on her +head with her pail in the air + +"Do you understand yourself clearly? Or is it just possible that +when you dive to the depths of your own consciousness, you +sometimes find the pretty milkmaid standing on her head? I +wonder!" . . . + + +Ah, well, it is no wonder that he wonders! So do I, for that +matter! + + + +CHAPTER XII + + + +July 17th. + +Thornycroft Farm seems to be the musical centre of the universe. + +When I wake very early in the morning I lie in a drowsy sort of +dream, trying to disentangle, one from the other, the various bird +notes, trills, coos, croons, chirps, chirrups, and warbles. +Suddenly there falls on the air a delicious, liquid, finished song; +so pure, so mellow, so joyous, that I go to the window and look out +at the morning world, half awakened, like myself. + +There is I know not what charm in a window that does not push up, +but opens its lattices out into the greenness. And mine is like a +little jewelled door, for the sun is shining from behind the +chimneys and lighting the tiny diamond panes with amber flashes. + +A faint delicate haze lies over the meadow, and rising out of it, +and soaring toward the blue is the lark, flinging out that +matchless matin song, so rich, so thrilling, so lavish! As the +blithe melody fades away, I hear the plaintive ballad-fragments of +the robin on a curtsying branch near my window; and there is always +the liquid pipe of the thrush, who must quaff a fairy goblet of dew +between his songs, I should think, so fresh and eternally young is +his note. + +There is another beautiful song that I follow whenever I hear it, +straining my eyes to the treetops, yet never finding a bird that I +can identify as the singer. Can it be the - + + +"Ousel-cock so black of hue, +With orange-tawny bill"? + + +He is called the poet-laureate of the primrose time, but I don't +know whether he sings in midsummer, and I have not seen him +hereabouts. I must write and ask my dear Man of the North. The +Man of the North, I sometimes think, had a Fairy Grandmother who +was a robin; and perhaps she made a nest of fresh moss and put him +in the green wood when he was a wee bairnie, so that he waxed wise +in bird-lore without knowing it. At all events, describe to him +the cock of a head, the glance of an eye, the tip-up of a tail, or +the sheen of a feather, and he will name you the bird. Near- +sighted he is, too, the Man of the North, but that is only for +people. + +The Square Baby and I have a new game. + +I bought a doll's table and china tea-set in Buffington. We put it +under an apple-tree in the side garden, where the scarlet lightning +grows so tall and the Madonna lilies stand so white against the +flaming background. We built a little fence around it, and every +afternoon at tea-time we sprinkle seeds and crumbs in the dishes, +water in the tiny cups, drop a cherry in each of the fruit-plates, +and have a the chantant for the birdies. We sometimes invite an +"invaleed" duckling, or one of the baby rabbits, or the peacock, in +which case the cards read:- + + +Thornycroft Farm. +The pleasure of your company is requested +at a +The Chantant +Under the Apple Tree. +Music at five. + + +It is a charming game, as I say, but I'd far rather play it with +the Man of the North; he is so much younger than the Square Baby, +and so much more responsive, too. + +Thornycroft Farm is a sweet place, too, of odours as well as +sounds. The scent of the hay is for ever in the nostrils, the +hedges are thick with wild honeysuckle, so deliciously fragrant, +the last of the June roses are lingering to do their share, and +blackberry blossoms and ripening fruit as well. + +I have never known a place in which it is so easy to be good. I +have not said a word, nor scarcely harboured a thought, that was +not lovely and virtuous since I entered these gates, and yet there +are those who think me fantastic, difficult, hard to please, +unreasonable! + +I believe the saints must have lived in the country mostly (I am +certain they never tried Hydropathic hotels), and why anybody with +a black heart and natural love of wickedness should not simply buy +a poultry farm and become an angel, I cannot understand. + +Living with animals is really a very improving and wholesome kind +of life, to the person who will allow himself to be influenced by +their sensible and high-minded ideals. When you come to think +about it, man is really the only animal that ever makes a fool of +himself; the others are highly civilised, and never make mistakes. +I am going to mention this when I write to somebody, sometime; I +mean if I ever do. To be sure, our human life is much more +complicated than theirs, and I believe when the other animals +notice our errors of judgment they make allowances. The bee is as +busy as a bee, and the beaver works like a beaver, but there their +responsibility ends. The bee doesn't have to go about seeing that +other bees are not crowded into unsanitary tenements or victimised +by the sweating system. When the beaver's day of toil is over he +doesn't have to discuss the sphere, the rights, or the voting +privileges of beaveresses; all he has to do is to work like a +beaver, and that is comparatively simple. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + + +I have been studying The Young Poultry Keeper's Friend of late. If +there is anything I dislike and deplore, it is the possession of +knowledge which I cannot put to practical use. Having discovered +an interesting disease called Scaly Leg in the July number, I took +the magazine out into the poultry-yard and identified the malady on +three hens and a cock. Phoebe joined me in the diagnosis and we +treated the victims with a carbolic lotion and scrubbed them with +vaseline. + +As Phoebe and I grow wise in medical lore the case of Cannibal Ann +assumes a different aspect. As the bibulous man quaffs more and +more flagons of beer and wine when his daily food is ham, salt +fish, and cabbage, so does the hen avenge her wrongs of diet and +woes of environment. Cannibal Ann, herself, has, so far as we +know, been raised in a Christian manner and enjoyed all the +advantages of modern methods; but her maternal parent may have +lived in some heathen poultry-yard which was asphalted or bricked +or flagged, so that she was debarred from scratching in Mother +Earth and was forced to eat her own shells in self-defence. + +* * * + +The Square Baby is not particularly attracted by the poultry as a +whole, save when it is boiled with bacon or roasted with bread- +sauce; but he is much interested in the "invaleeds." Whenever +Phoebe and I start for the hospital with the tobacco-pills, the tin +of paraffin, and the bottle of oil, he is very much in evidence. +Perhaps he has a natural leaning toward the medical profession; at +any rate, when pain and anguish wring the brow, he is in close +attendance upon the ministering angels. + +Now it is necessary for the physician to have practice as well as +theory, so the Square Baby, being left to himself this afternoon, +proceeded to perfect himself in some of the healing arts used by +country practitioners. + +When discovered, he was seated in front of the wire-covered "run" +attached to a coop occupied by the youngest goslings. A couple of +bottles and a box stood by his side, and I should think he had +administered a cup of sweet oil, a pint of paraffin, and a quarter +of a pound of tobacco during his clinic. He had used the remedies +impartially, sometimes giving the paraffin internally and rubbing +the patient's head with tobacco or oil, sometimes the reverse. + +Several goslings leaned languidly against the netting, or supported +themselves by the edge of the water-dish, while others staggered +and reeled about with eyes half closed. + +It was Mrs. Heaven who caught her son red-handed, so to speak. She +was dressed in her best, and just driving off to Woodmucket to +spend a day or two with her married daughter, and soothe her nerves +with the uproar incident to a town of six hundred inhabitants. She +delayed her journey a half-hour--long enough, in fact, to change +her black silk waist for a loose sacque which would give her arms +full and comfortable play. The joy and astonishment that greeted +the Square Baby on his advent, five years ago, was forgotten for +the first time in his brief life, and he was treated precisely as +any ordinary wrongdoer would have been treated under the same +circumstances, summarily and smartly; the "wepping," as Phoebe +would say, being Mrs. Heaven's hand. + +All but one of the goslings lived, like thousands of others who +recover in spite of the doctors, but the Square Baby's interest in +the healing art is now perceptibly lessened. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + + +July 18th. + +The day was Friday; Phoebe's day to go to Buffington with eggs and +chickens and rabbits; her day to solicit orders for ducklings and +goslings. The village cart was ready in the stable; Mr. and Mrs. +Heaven were in Woodmucket; I was eating my breakfast (which I +remember was an egg and a rasher) when Phoebe came in, a figure of +woe. + +The Square Baby was ill, very ill, and would not permit her to +leave him and go to market. Would I look at him? For he must have +dowsed 'imself as well as the goslings yesterday; anyways he was +strong of paraffin and tobacco, though he 'ad 'ad a good barth. + +I prescribed for Albert Edward, who was as uncomfortable and +feverish as any little sinner in the county of Sussex, and I then +promptly proposed going to Buffington in Phoebe's place. + +She did not think it at all proper, and said that, notwithstanding +my cotton gown and sailor hat, I looked quite, quite the lydy, and +it would never do. + +"I cannot get any new orders," said I, "but I can certainly leave +the rabbits and eggs at the customary places. I know Argent's +Dining Parlours, and Songhurst's Tea Rooms, and the Six Bells Inn, +as well as you do." + +So, donning a pair of Phoebe's large white cotton gloves with open- +work wrists (than which I always fancy there is no one article that +so disguises the perfect lydy), I set out upon my travels, upborne +by a lively sense of amusement that was at least equal to my +feeling that I was doing Phoebe Heaven a good turn. + +Prices in dressed poultry were fluctuating, but I had a copy of The +Trade Review, issued that very day, and was able to get some idea +of values and the state of the market as I jogged along. The +general movement, I learned, was moderate and of a "selective" +character. Choice large capons and ducks were in steady demand, +but I blushed for my profession when I read that roasting chickens +were running coarse, staggy, and of irregular value. Old hens were +held firmly at sixpence, and it is my experience that they always +have to be, at whatever price. Geese were plenty, dull, and weak. +Old cocks,--why don't they say roosters?--declined to threepence +ha'penny on Thursday in sympathy with fowls,--and who shall say +that chivalry is dead? Turkeys were a trifle steadier, and there +was a speculative movement in limed eggs. All this was +illuminating, and I only wished I were quite certain whether the +sympathetic old roosters were threepence ha'penny apiece, or a +pound. + +Everything happened as it should, on this first business journey of +my life, which is equivalent to saying that nothing happened at +all. Songhurst's Tea Rooms took five dozen eggs and told me to +bring six dozen the next week. Argent's Dining Parlours purchased +three pairs of chickens and four rabbits. The Six Bells found the +last poultry somewhat tough and tasteless; whereupon I said that +our orders were more than we could possibly fill, still I hoped we +could go on "selling them," as we never liked to part with old +customers, no matter how many new ones there were. Privately, I +understood the complaint only too well, for I knew the fowls in +question very intimately. Two of them were the runaway rooster and +the gadabout hen that never wanted to go to bed with the others. +The third was Cannibal Ann. I should have expected them to be +tough, but I cannot believe they were lacking in flavour. + +The only troublesome feature of the trip was that Mrs. Sowerbutt's +lodgers had suddenly left for London and she was unable to take the +four rabbits as she had hoped; but as an offset to that piece of +ill-fortune the Coke and Coal Yard and the Bicycle Repairing Rooms +came out into the street, and, stepping up to the trap, requested +regular weekly deliveries of eggs and chickens, and hoped that I +would be able to bring them myself. And so, in a happy frame of +mind, I turned out of the Buffington main street, and was jogging +along homeward, when a very startling thing happened; namely, a +whole verse of the Bailiff's Daughter of Islington:- + + +"And as she went along the high road, +The weather being hot and dry, +She sat her down upon a green bank, +And her true love came riding by." + + +That true lovers are given to riding by, in ballads, I know very +well, but I hardly supposed they did so in real life, especially +when every precaution had been taken to avert such a catastrophe. +I had told the Barbury Green postmistress, on the morning of my +arrival, not to give the Thornycroft address to anybody whatsoever, +but finding, as the days passed, that no one was bold enough or +sensible enough to ask for it, I haughtily withdrew my prohibition. +About this time I began sending envelopes, carefully addressed in a +feigned hand, to a certain person at the Oxenbridge Hydro. These +envelopes contained no word of writing, but held, on one day, only +a bit of down from a hen's breast, on another, a goose-quill, on +another, a glossy tail-feather, on another, a grain of corn, and so +on. These trifles were regarded by me not as degrading or +unmaidenly hints and suggestions, but simply as tests of +intelligence. Could a man receive tokens of this sort and fail to +put two and two together? I feel that I might possibly support +life with a domineering and autocratic husband,--and there is every +prospect that I shall be called upon to do so,--but not with a +stupid one. Suppose one were linked for ever to a man capable of +asking,--"Did YOU send those feathers? . . . How was I to guess? . +. . How was a fellow to know they came from you? . . . What on +earth could I suppose they meant? . . . What clue did they offer me +as to your whereabouts? . . . Am I a Sherlock Holmes?"--No, better +eternal celibacy than marriage with such a being! + +These were the thoughts that had been coursing through my goose- +girl mind while I had been selling dressed poultry, but in some way +they had not prepared me for the appearance of the aforesaid true +love. + +To see the very person whom one has left civilisation to avoid is +always more or less surprising, and to make the meeting less +likely, Buffington is even farther from Oxenbridge than Barbury +Green. The creature was well mounted (ominous, when he came to +override my caprice!) and he looked bigger, and, yes, handsomer, +though that doesn't signify, and still more determined than when I +saw him last; although goodness knows that timidity and feebleness +of purpose were not in striking evidence on that memorable +occasion. I had drawn up under the shade of a tree ostensibly to +eat some cherries, thinking that if I turned my face away I might +pass unrecognised. It was a stupid plan, for if I had whipped up +the mare and driven on, he of course, would have had to follow, and +he has too much dignity and self-respect to shriek recriminations +into a woman's ear from a distance. + +He approached with deliberation, reined in his horse, and lifted +his hat ceremoniously. He has an extremely shapely head, but I did +not show that the sight of it melted in the least the ice of my +resolve; whereupon we talked, not very freely at first,--men are so +stiff when they consider themselves injured. However, silence is +even more embarrassing than conversation, so at length I begin:- + + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"It is a lovely day." + +True Love.--"Yes, but the drought is getting rather oppressive, +don't you think?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"The crops certainly need rain, and the feed +is becoming scarce." + +True Love.--"Are you a farmer's wife?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"Oh no! that is a promotion to look forward +to; I am now only a Goose Girl." + +True Love.--"Indeed! If I wished to be severe I might remark: +that I am sure you have found at last your true vocation!" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"It was certainly through no desire to please +YOU that I chose it." + +True Love.--"I am quite sure of that! Are you staying in this +part?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"Oh no! I live many miles distant, over an +extremely rough road. And you?" + +True Love.--"I am still at the Hydropathic; or at least my luggage +is there." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"It must be very pleasant to attract you so +long." + +True Love.--"Not so pleasant as it was." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"No? A new proprietor, I suppose." + +True Love.--"No; same proprietor; but the house is empty." + +Bailiff's Daughter (yawning purposely).--"That is strange; the +hotels are usually so full at this season. Why did so many leave?" + +True Love.--"As a matter of fact, only one left. "Full" and +"empty" are purely relative terms. I call a hotel full when it has +you in it, empty when it hasn't." + +Bailiff's Daughter (dying to laugh, but concealing her feelings).-- +"I trust my bulk does not make the same impression on the general +public! Well, I won't detain you longer; good afternoon; I must go +home to my evening work." + +True Love.--"I will accompany you." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"If you are a gentleman you will remain where +you are." + +True Love.--"In the road? Perhaps; but if I am a man I shall +follow you; they always do, I notice. What are those foolish +bundles in the back of that silly cart?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"Feed for the pony, please, sir; fish for +dinner; randans and barley meal for the poultry; and four unsold +rabbits. Wouldn't you like them? Only one and sixpence apiece. +Shot at three o'clock this morning." + +True Love.--"Thanks; I don't like mine shot so early." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"Oh, well! doubtless I shall be able to +dispose of them on my way home, though times is 'ard!" + +True Love.--"Do you mean that you will "peddle" them along the +road?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"You understand me better than usual,--in fact +to perfection." + +He dismounts and strides to the back of the cart, lifts the covers, +seizes the rabbits, flings some silver contemptuously into the +basket, and looks about him for a place to bury his bargain. A +small boy approaching in the far distance will probably bag the +game. + +Bailiff's Daughter (modestly).--"Thanks for your trade, sir, rather +ungraciously bestowed, and we 'opes for a continuance of your past +fyvors." + +True Love (leaning on the wheel of the trap).--"Let us stop this +nonsense. What did you hope to gain by running away?" + +Bailiff 's Daughter.--"Distance and absence." + +True Love.--"You knew you couldn't prevent my offering myself to +you sometime or other." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"Perhaps not; but I could at least defer it, +couldn't I?" + +True Love.--"Why postpone the inevitable?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"Doubtless I shrank from giving you the pain +of a refusal." + +True Love.--"Perhaps; but do you know what I suspect?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"I'm not a suspicious person, thank goodness!" + +True Love.--"That, on the contrary, you are wilfully withholding +from me the joy of acceptance." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"If I intended to accept you, why did I run +away?" + +True Love.--"To make yourself more desirable and precious, I +suppose." + +Bailiff's Daughter (with the most confident coquetry).--"Did I +succeed?" + +True Love.--"No; you failed utterly." + +Bailiff's Daughter (secretly piqued).--"Then I am glad I tried it." + +True Love.--"You couldn't succeed because you were superlatively +desirable and precious already; but you should never have +experimented. Don't you know that Love is a high explosive?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"Is it? Then it ought always to be labelled +"dangerous," oughtn't it? But who thought of suggesting matches? +I'm sure I didn't!" + +True Love.--"No such luck; I wish you would." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"According to your theory, if you apply a +match to Love it is likely to 'go off.'" + +True Love.--"I wish you would try it on mine and await the result. +Come now, you'll have to marry somebody, sometime." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"I confess I don't see the necessity." + +True Love (morosely).--"You're the sort of woman men won't leave in +undisturbed spinsterhood; they'll keep on badgering you." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"Oh, I don't mind the badgering of a number of +men; it's rather nice. It's the one badger I find obnoxious." + +True Love (impatiently).--"That's just the perversity of things. I +could put a stop to the protestations of the many; I should like +nothing better--but the pertinacity of the one! Ah, well! I can't +drop that without putting an end to my existence." + +Bailiff's Daughter (politely).--"I shouldn't think of suggesting +anything so extreme." + +True Love (quoting).--"'Mrs. Hauksbee proceeded to take the conceit +out of Pluffles as you remove the ribs of an umbrella before re- +covering.' However, you couldn't ask me anything seriously that I +wouldn't do, dear Mistress Perversity." + +Bailiff's Daughter (yielding a point).--"I'll put that boldly to +the proof. Say you don't love me!" + +True Love (seizing his advantage).--"I don't! It's imbecile and +besotted devotion! Tell me, when may I come to take you away?" + +Bailiff's Daughter (sighing).--"It's like asking me to leave +Heaven." + +True Love.--"I know it; she told me where to find you,--Thornycroft +is the seventh poultry-farm I've visited,--but you could never +leave Heaven, you can't be happy without poultry, why that is a +wish easily gratified. I'll get you a farm to-morrow; no, it's +Saturday, and the real estate offices close at noon, but on Monday, +without fail. Your ducks and geese, always carrying it along with +you. All you would have to do is to admit me; Heaven is full of +twos. If you shall swim on a crystal lake--Phoebe told me what a +genius you have for getting them out of the muddy pond; she was +sitting beside it when I called, her hand in that of a straw- +coloured person named Gladwish, and the ground in her vicinity +completely strewn with votive offerings. You shall splash your +silver sea with an ivory wand; your hens shall have suburban +cottages, each with its garden; their perches shall be of satin- +wood and their water dishes of mother-of-pearl. You shall be the +Goose Girl and I will be the Swan Herd--simply to be near you--for +I hate live poultry. Dost like the picture? It's a little like +Claude Melnotte's, I confess. The fact is I am not quite sane; +talking with you after a fortnight of the tabbies at the Hydro is +like quaffing inebriating vodka after Miffin's Food! May I come +to-morrow?" + +Bailiffs Daughter (hedging).--"I shall be rather busy; the Crossed +Minorca hen comes off to-morrow." + +True Love.--"Oh, never mind! I'll take her off to-night when I +escort you to the farm; then she'll get a day's advantage." + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"And rob fourteen prospective chicks of a +mother; nay, lose the chicks themselves? Never!" + +True Love.--"So long as you are a Goose Girl, does it make any +difference whose you are? Is it any more agreeable to be Mrs. +Heaven's Goose Girl than mine?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"Ah! but in one case the term of service is +limited; in the other, permanent." + +True Love.--"But in the one case you are the slave of the employer, +in the other the employer of the slave. Why did you run away?" + +Bailiff's Daughter.--"A man's mind is too dull an instrument to +measure a woman's reason; even my own fails sometimes to deal with +all its delicate shades; but I think I must have run away chiefly +to taste the pleasure of being pursued and brought back. If it is +necessary to your happiness that you should explore all the +Bluebeard chambers of my being, I will confess further that it has +taken you nearly three weeks to accomplish what I supposed you +would do in three days!" + +True Love (after a well-spent interval).--"To-morrow, then; shall +we say before breakfast? All, do! Why not? Well, then, +immediately after breakfast, and I breakfast at seven nowadays, and +sometimes earlier. Do take off those ugly cotton gloves, dear; +they are five sizes too large for you, and so rough and baggy to +the touch!" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Diary of a Goose Girl, by Wiggin + diff --git a/old/gsgrl10.zip b/old/gsgrl10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0370180 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/gsgrl10.zip |
