O the pathos1 of a poultry2 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 bereft3 one? She is miserable4 and stands about moping and forlorn, but it is no use fighting against the inevitable5; hens’ hearts must obey the same laws that govern the rotation6 of crops. Catherine of Aragon feels her lot a bitter one just now, but in time she will succumb7, 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 Phœbe.
“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!”
“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 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.
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” vociferously8 in transit9, threatening so unmistakably to hatch in my hand that I was decidedly nervous. The intrepid10 little youngster burst his shell as he touched Phœbe’s apron11, 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 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 infinitely12 better woman now. I am afraid I was not particularly nice the last few days at the Hydro. Such a lot of dull, prosy, inquisitive13, 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 rejection14; another man taking rooms at the very hotel with the avowed15 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 dignified16 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 revolve17, and, probably, about some other centre. I can well imagine who has taken up that delightful18 but somewhat exposed and responsible position—it would be just like her!
Threatened . . . to hatch in my hand
I am perfectly19 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 cynosure20 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 beak21 with their tiny ones, and jumping on her back to slide down her glossy22 feathers. They would be far nicer to cuddle, too, so small and graceful23 and light; the changelings are a trifle solid and brawny24. And personally, just as a matter of taste, would she not prefer wee, round, glancing heads, and pointed25 beaks26, 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 perches27 in their new house, instead of huddling28 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 régime of perfect order and system instituted by Me begins to show results.
One can always be a Goose Girl
There is no more violent splashing and pebbling29, racing30, chasing, separating. The pole, indeed, still has to be produced, but at the first majestic31 wave of my hand they scuttle32 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
Mrs. Heaven has no reverence33 for the principles of Comenius, Pestalozzi, or Herbert Spencer as applied34 to poultry, and when the ducks and geese came out of the pond badly the other night and went waddling35 and tumbling and hissing36 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 instilled37 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.
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 fowl38, 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 Phœbe has never succeeded in catching39 her in flagrante delicto. That eminent40 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 gulp41 her own newly-laid fresh egg, yolk42, white, shell, and all; to realise that you have fed, sheltered, chased, and occasionally run in, a being possessed43 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
We have had a sad scene to-night. A chick has been ailing44 all day, and when we shut up the brood we found him dead in a corner.
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 curiously45.
“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!”
I put the fluffy46 body into a hole in the turf, and strewed47 a handful of grass over him. “Sad little epitaph!” I thought. “He never was a fyvorite!”
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1
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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vociferously
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| adv.喊叫地，吵闹地 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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15
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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cynosure
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| n.焦点 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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beaks
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| n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 )；鹰钩嘴；尖鼻子；掌权者 | |
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perches
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| 栖息处( perch的名词复数 )； 栖枝； 高处； 鲈鱼 | |
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huddling
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| n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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pebbling
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| 卵石皮 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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waddling
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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36
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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37
instilled
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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41
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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42
yolk
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| n.蛋黄，卵黄 | |
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43
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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47
strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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