Next came the molting period.

Pliny said long ago of the peacock: "When he hath lost his taile, he
hath no delight to come abroad," but I knew nothing of this peculiarity,
supposing that a peacock's tail, once grown, was a permanent ornament.
On the contrary, if a peacock should live one hundred and twenty years
(and his longevity is something phenomenal) he would have one hundred
and seventeen new and interesting tails--enough to start a circulating
library. Yes, Beauty's pride and mine had a sad fall as one by one the
long plumes were dropped in road and field and garden. He should have
been caught and confined, and the feathers, all loose at once, should
have been pulled out at one big pull and saved intact for fans and dust
brushes, and adornment of mirrors and fire-places. Soon every one was
gone, and the mortified creature now hid away in the corn, and behind
shrubbery, disappearing entirely from view, save as hunger necessitated
a brief emerging.

This tailless absentee was not what I had bought as the champion prize
winner. And Belle, after laying four eggs, refused to set. But I put
them under a turkey, and, to console myself and re-enforce my position
as an owner of peacocks, I began to study peacock lore and literature. I
read once more of the throne of the greatest of all the moguls at Delhi,
India.

"The under part of the canopy is embroidered with pearls and diamonds,
with a fringe of pearls round about. On the top of the canopy, which is
made like an arch with four panes, stands a peacock with his tail
spread, consisting all of sapphires and other proper-colored stones;
the body is of beaten gold enchased with several jewels, and a great