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 fright--that 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.




CHAPTER V


July 10th.