Sunshine, streaming into my bedroom through the open window, woke menext day as distant clocks were striking eight. It was a lovelymorning, cool and fresh. The grass of the lawn, wet with dew, sparkledin the sun. A thrush, who knew all about early birds and theirperquisites, was filling in the time before the arrival of the wormwith a song or two, as he sat in the bushes. In the ivy a colony ofsparrows were opening the day with brisk scuffling. On the gravel infront of the house lay the mongrel, Bob, blinking lazily.

　　The gleam of the sea through the trees turned my thoughts to bathing.

　　I dressed quickly and went out. Bob rose to meet me, waving anabsurdly long tail. The hatchet was definitely buried now. That littlematter of the jug of water was forgotten.

　　A walk of five minutes down the hill brought me, accompanied by Bob,to the sleepy little town. I passed through the narrow street, andturned on to the beach, walking in the direction of the combination ofpier and break-water which loomed up through the faint mist.

　　The tide was high, and, leaving my clothes to the care of Bob, whotreated them as a handy bed, I dived into twelve feet of clear, coldwater. As I swam, I compared it with the morning tub of London, andfelt that I had done well to come with Ukridge to this pleasant spot.

　　Not that I could rely on unbroken calm during the whole of my visit. Iknew nothing of chicken-farming, but I was certain that Ukridge knewless. There would be some strenuous moments before that farm became aprofitable commercial speculation. At the thought of Ukridge toilingon a hot afternoon to manage an undisciplined mob of fowls, I laughed,and swallowed a generous mouthful of salt water; and, turning, swamback to Bob and my clothes.

　　On my return, I found Ukridge, in his shirt sleeves and minus acollar, assailing a large ham. Mrs. Ukridge, looking younger and morechild-like than ever in brown holland, smiled at me over the tea-pot.

　　"Hullo, old horse," bellowed Ukridge, "where have you been? Bathing?

　　Hope it's made you feel fit for work, because we've got to buckle tothis morning.""The fowls have arrived, Mr. Garnet," said Mrs. Ukridge, opening hereyes till she looked like an astonished kitten. "/Such/ a lot of them.

　　They're making such a noise."To support her statement there floated in through the window acackling which for volume and variety beat anything I had ever heard.

　　Judging from the noise, it seemed as if England had been drained offowls and the entire tribe of them dumped into the yard of Ukridge'sfarm.

　　"There seems to have been no stint," I said.

　　"Quite a goodish few, aren't there?" said Ukridge complacently. "Butthat's what we want. No good starting on a small scale. The more youhave, the bigger the profits.""What sorts have you got mostly?" I asked, showing a professionalinterest.