Queer Little Folks | Page 5

a smile--when she even pecks at him whom she is bound
to honour and obey--"
"Horrid monster! talking of obedience! I should say, sir, you came
straight from Turkey." And Mrs. Red Comb tossed her head with a
most bewitching air, and pretended to run away; and old Mrs.
Scratchard looked out of her coop and called to Goody Kertarkut, -
"Look how Mr. Gray Cock is flirting with that widow. I always knew
she was a baggage."
"And his poor wife left at home alone," said Goody Kertarkut. "It's the
way with 'em all!"
"Yes, yes," said Dame Scratchard, "she'll know what real life is now,
and she won't go about holding her head so high, and looking down on
her practical neighbours that have raised families."
"Poor thing! what'll she do with a family?" said Goody Kertarkut.
"Well, what business have such young flirts to get married?" said Dame
Scratchard. "I don't expect she'll raise a single chick; and there's Gray
Cock flirting about, fine as ever. Folks didn't do so when I was young.
I'm sure my husband knew what treatment a sitting hen ought to
have,--poor old Long Spur! he never minded a peck or so and then. I
must say these modern fowls ain't what fowls used to be."
Meanwhile the sun rose and set, and Master Fred was almost the only
friend and associate of poor little Mrs. Feathertop, whom he fed daily
with meal and water, and only interrupted her sad reflections by pulling
her up occasionally to see how the eggs were coming on.
At last "Peep, peep, peep," began to be heard in the nest, and one little
downy head after another poked forth from under the feathers,
surveying the world with round, bright, winking eyes; and gradually the
brood were hatched, and Mrs. Feathertop arose, a proud and happy
mother, with all the bustling, scratching, care-taking instincts of
family-life warm within her breast. She clucked and scratched, and

cuddled the little downy bits of things as handily and discreetly as a
seven-year-old hen could have done, exciting thereby the wonder of the
community.
Master Gray Cock came home in high spirits, and complimented her;
told her she was looking charmingly once more, and said, "Very well,
very nice," as he surveyed the young brood. So that Mrs. Feathertop
began to feel the world going well with her, when suddenly in came
Dame Scratchard and Goody Kertarkut to make a morning call.
"Let's see the chicks," said Dame Scratchard.
"Goodness me," said Goody Kertarkut, "what a likeness to their dear
papa!"
"Well, but bless me, what's the matter with their bills?" said Dame
Scratchard. "Why, my dear, these chicks are deformed! I'm sorry for
you, my dear; but it's all the result of your inexperience. You ought to
have eaten pebble-stones with your meal when you were sitting. Don't
you see, Dame Kertarkut, what bills they have? That'll increase, and
they'll be frightful!"
"What shall I do?" said Mrs. Feathertop, now greatly alarmed.
"Nothing, as I know of," said Dame Scratchard, "since you didn't come
to me before you sat. I could have told you all about it. Maybe it won't
kill 'em, but they'll always be deformed."
And so the gossips departed, leaving a sting under the pin-feathers of
the poor little hen mamma, who began to see that her darlings had
curious little spoon-bills, different from her own, and to worry and fret
about it.
"My dear," she said to her spouse, "do get Dr. Peppercorn to come in
and look at their bills, and see if anything can be done."
Dr. Peppercorn came in, and put on a monstrous pair of spectacles, and
said, "Hum! ha! extraordinary case; very singular."
"Did you ever see anything like it, doctor?" said both parents in a
breath.
"I've read of such cases. It's a calcareous enlargement of the vascular
bony tissue, threatening ossification," said the doctor.
"Oh, dreadful! Can it be possible?" shrieked both parents. "Can
anything be done?"
"Well, I should recommend a daily lotion made of mosquitoes' horns
and bicarbonate of frogs' toes, together with a powder, to be taken

morning and night, of muriate of fleas. One thing you must be careful
about: they must never wet their feet, nor drink any water."
"Dear me, doctor, I don't know what I SHALL do, for they seem to
have a particular fancy for getting into water."
"Yes, a morbid tendency often found in these cases of bony
tumification of the vascular tissue of the mouth; but you must resist it,
ma'am, as their life depends upon it." And with that Dr. Peppercorn
glared gloomily on the young ducks, who were stealthily poking the
objectionable little spoon-bills out from under their mother's feathers.
After this poor Mrs. Feathertop led a weary life