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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
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The Diary of a Goose Girl
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 frightthat 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。
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The Diary of a Goose Girl
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