the diary of a goose girl-第4章

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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　talenot　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　hennot　womanly；　simply
feminine。　　Those　men　of　insight　who　write　the　Woman's　Page　in　the
Sunday　newspapers　study　hens　more　than　women；　I　sometimes　think；　at
any　rate；　their　favourite　types　are　all　present　on　this　poultry
farm。

Some　families　of　White　Leghorns　spend　most　of　their　time　in　the
rickyard；　where　they　look　extremely　pretty；　their　slender　white
shapes　and　red　combs　and　wattles　well　set　off　by　the　background　of
golden　hayricks。　　There　is　a　great　oak…tree　in　one　corner；　with　a
tall　ladder　leaning　against　its　trunk；　and　a　capital　roosting…place
on　a　long　branch　running　at　right　angles　with　the　ladder。　　I　try　to
spend　a　quarter　of　an　hour　there　every　night　before　supper；　just
for　the　pleasure　of　seeing　the　feathered　〃women…folks〃　mount　that
ladder。

A　dozen　of　them　surround　the　foot；　waiting　restlessly　for　their
turn。　　One　little　white　lady　flutters　up　on　the　lowest　round　and
perches　there　until　she　reviews　the　past；　faces　the　present；　and
forecasts　the　future；　during　which　time　she　is　gathering　courage
for　the　next　jump。　　She　cackles；　takes　up　one　foot　and　then　the
other；　tilts　back　and　forth；　holds　up　her　skirts　and　drops　them
again；　cocks　her　head　nervously　to　see　whether　they　are　all　staring
at　her　below；　gives　half　a　dozen　preliminary　springs　which　mean
nothing；　declares　she　can't　and　won't　go　up　any　faster；　unties　her
bonnet　strings　and　pushes　back　her　hair；　pulls　down　her　dress　to
cover　her　toes；　and　finally　alights　on　the　next　round；　swaying　to
and　fro　until　she　gains　her　equilibrium；　when　she　proceeds　to　enact
the　same　scene　over　again。

All　this　time　the　hens　at　the　foot　of　the　ladder　are　criticising
her　methods　and　exclaiming　at　the　length　of　time　she　requires　in
mounting；　while　the　cocks　stroll　about　the　yard　keeping　one　eye　on
the　ladder；　picking　up　a　seed　here　and　there；　and　giving　a
masculine　sneer　now　and　then　at　the　too…familiar　scene。　　They
approach　the　party　at　intervals；　but　only　to　remark　that　it　always
makes　a　man　laugh　to　see　a　woman　go　up　a　ladder。　　The　next　hen；
stirred　to　the　depths　by　this　speech；　flies　up　entirely　too　fast；
loses　her　head；　tumbles　off　the　top　round；　and　has　to　make　the
ascent　over　again。　　Thus　it　goes　on　and　on；　this　petite　comedie
humaine；　and　I　could　enjoy　it　with　my　whole　heart　if　Mr。　Heaven　did
not　insist　on　sharing　the　spectacle　with　me。　　He　is　so
inexpressibly　dull；　so　destitute　of　humour；　that　I　did　not　think　it
likely　he　would　see　in　the　performance　anything　more　than　a　flock
of　hens　going　up　a　ladder　to　roost。　　But　he　did；　for　there　is　no
man　so　blind　that　he　cannot　see　the　follies　of　women；　and；　when　he
forgot　himself　so　far　as　to　utter　a　few　genial；　silly；　well…worn
reflections　upon　femininity　at　large；　I　turned　upon　him　and
revealed　to　him　some　of　the　characteristics　of　his　own　sex；　gained
from　an　exhaustive　study　of　the　barnyard　fowl　of　the　masculine
gender。　　He　went　into　the　house　discomfited；　though　chuckling　a
little　at　my　vehemence；　but　at　least　I　have　made　it　for　ever
impossible　for　him　to　watch　his　hens　without　an　occasional　glance
at　the　cocks。



CHAPTER　VII



July　12th。

O　the　pathos　of　a　poultry　farm！　　Catherine　of　Aragon；　the　black
Spanish　hen　that　stole　her　nest；　brought　out　nine　chicks　this
morning；　and　the　business…like　and　marble…hearted　Phoebe　has　taken
them　away　and　given　them　to　another　hen　who　has　only　seven。　　Two
mothers　cannot　be　wasted　on　these　small　familiesit　would　not　be
profitable；　and　the　older　mother；　having　been　tried　and　found
faithful　over　seven；　has　been　given　the　other　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　litt