The Curly-Haired Hen | Page 4

hen was still shivering, shaking in every limb, her skin all
goose-flesh. Dragging after her her travesty of a tail, she jumped onto
the kitchen-table which she shook with her shivering.
"We can't leave her like that any longer," said Mother Etienne, "we
must cover her up somehow," and straightway she wrapped her up in
all the cloths she could lay her hands on. Germaine prepared some hot
wine with sugar in it, and the two women fed her with it in
spoonfuls,--then they took a good drink of it themselves. All three at
once felt the better for it. Yollande spent the night in these hastily-made
swaddling clothes between two foot-warmers which threw out a gentle
and continuous heat and kept away the catarrh with which the poor
Cochin-China was threatened. The great question which arose now was
how they were to protect her from the cold in future. Both of them
cogitated over it.
Several times during the night, Mother Etienne and the maid came to
look at the hen, who, worn out by such a long day of fatigue and
suffering, at last closed her eyes, relaxed, and slept till morning.
Nevertheless she was the first in the house to wake up, and at dawn
began to cackle vigorously. Germaine hastened to her, bringing a

quantity of corn which the hen, doubtless owing to her fast of the day
before, ate greedily.
Now the important thing was to find her a practical costume. The
weather was mild but there was great danger in allowing her to wander
about in a garb as light as it was primitive. The mornings and evenings
were cool and might bring on a cold, inflammation or congestion of the
lungs, rheumatism, or what not.
At all costs a new misfortune must be avoided. At last they dressed her
in silk cunningly fashioned and lined with wadding. Thus garbed her
entry into the poultry-yard was a subject of astonishment to some, fear
to others, and excitement to most of the birds she met on her way.
In vain Mother Etienne strove to tone down the colours of the stuffs, to
modify the cut of the garments, but Yollande long remained an object
of surprise and antipathy to the majority of the poultry.
The scandal soon reached its climax.
"That hen must be mad," said an old duck to his wife.
"Just imagine dressing up like that; she'll come along one of these days
in a bathing suit," cried a young rooster who prided himself on his wit.
A young turkey tugged at her clothes, trying to pull them off, and all
the others looked on laughing and hurling insults.... They vied with one
another in sarcastic speeches. At last, after a time, as the saying goes,
"Familiarity bred contempt." The fear which her companions had felt at
first soon changed into a familiarity often too great for the unhappy
Cochin-China. They tried to see who could play her the shabbiest trick.
Hens are often as cruel as men, which is saying a great deal.
Poor Yollande, in spite of her size, her solidity, and strength, nearly
always emerged half-dressed. Her companions could not stand her
dressed like that, the sight of her irritated them. Not content with
tearing her clothes they often pecked at the poor creature as well.

Mother Etienne did her best to improve these costumes in every
way--but it was as impossible to find perfection as the philosopher's
stone.
They hoped at the farm that in time the feathers would grow again.
Meanwhile it was hard on the hen.
Nothing of the sort happened; one, two, three months passed and not
the least vestige of down appeared on the hen, who had to be protected
like a human being from the changes of climate and so forth. Like a
well-to-do farmer's wife Yollande had her linen-chest and a complete
outfit.
It was, I assure you, my dear children, kept up most carefully. There
was always a button to sew on, a buttonhole to remake, or a tear to be
mended. Thus constantly in touch with the household Madame Hen
soon thought she belonged to it. Indeed, worn out by the teasing of her
companions, by the constant arguments she had with them, and touched
on the other hand by the affectionate care of her mistresses, Yollande
stayed more and more in the house. Coddled and swathed in her
fantastic costumes, she sat in the chimney corner like a little Cinderella
changed into a hen; from this corner she quietly watched; nothing
escaped her notice.
Meanwhile her reputation had grown, not only amongst her comrades,
but amongst all the animals of the neighbourhood, who, hearing her
discussed, were anxious to see her.
Woe to the cat or dog who dared venture too far