The population of my poultry-yard was composed of five hens and
Umslumpogaas. The five hens were creatures of mediocrity, deserving no
special mention--all very well for laying eggs and similar domestic
duties, but from an intellectual point of view simply napoo, as the
polyglot stylists have it. Far otherwise was it with Umslumpogaas.
He was a pure bred, massive Black Orpington cockerel, a scion of the
finest strain in the land. Indeed the dealer from whom I purchased
him informed me that there was royal blood in his veins, and I have
no reason to doubt it. One had only to watch him running in pursuit
of a moth or other winged insect to be struck by the essentially
aristocratic swing of his wattles and the symmetrical curves of
his graceful lobes; and the proud pomposity of his tail feathers
irresistibly called to mind the old nobility and the Court of LOUIS
QUATORZE. Pimple, our tabby kitten, looked indescribably bourgeois
beside him.

But it was not the external appearance of Umslumpogaas, regal though
it was, that endeared him to me so much as his great intellectual
potentialities. That bird had a mind, and I was determined to develop
it to the uttermost. Under my assiduous tuition he progressed in a
manner that can only be described as astonishing. He quickly learned
to take a letter from the post-girl in his beak and deliver it without
error to that member of the family to whom it was addressed. I was in
the habit of reading to him extracts from the daily papers, and the
interest he took in the course of the recent war and his intelligent
appreciation of the finer points of Marshal FOCH'S strategy were most
pleasing to observe. He would greet the news of our victorious onsweep
with exultant crows, while at the announcement of any temporary
set-back he would mutter gloomily and go and scratch under the