the diary of a goose girl-第6节

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of　making　my　life　a　burden；　and　on　the　heels　of　both；　a　widow　of
thirty…five　in　full　chase！　　Small　wonder　I　thought　it　more
dignified　to　retire　than　to　compete；　and　so　I　did。

I　need　not；　however；　have　cut　the　threads　that　bound　me　to
Oxenbridge　with　such　particularly　sharp　scissors；　nor　given　them
such　a　vicious　snap；　for；　so　far　as　I　can　observe；　the　little　world
of　which　I　imagined　myself　the　sun　continues　to　revolve；　and；
probably；　about　some　other　centre。　　I　can　well　imagine　who　has
taken　up　that　delightful　but　somewhat　exposed　and　responsible
positionit　would　be　just　like　her！

I　am　perfectly　happy　where　I　am；　it　is　not　that；　but　it　seems　so
strange　that　they　can　be　perfectly　happy　without　me；　after　all　that
theyafter　all　that　was　said　on　the　subject　not　many　days　ago。
Nothing　turns　out　as　one　expects。　　There　have　been　no　hot　pursuits；
no　rewards　offered；　no　bills　posted；　no　printed　placards　issued
describing　the　beauty　and　charms　of　a　young　person　who　supposed
herself　the　cynosure　of　every　eye。　　Heigh…ho！　　What　does　it　matter；
after　all？　　One　can　always　be　a　Goose　Girl！

*　*　*

I　wonder　if　the　hen　mother　is　quite；　quite　satisfied　with　her
ducklings！　　Do　you　suppose　the　fact　of　hatching　and　brooding　them
breaks　down　all　the　sense　of　difference？　　Does　she　not　sometimes
reflect　that　if　her　children　were　the　ordinary　sort；　and　not　these
changelings；　she　would　be　enjoying　certain　pretty　little　attentions
dear　to　a　mother's　heart？　　The　chicks　would　be　pecking　the　food　off
her　broad　beak　with　their　tiny　ones；　and　jumping　on　her　back　to
slide　down　her　glossy　feathers。　　They　would　be　far　nicer　to　cuddle；
too；　so　small　and　graceful　and　light；　the　changelings　are　a　trifle
solid　and　brawny。　　And　personally；　just　as　a　matter　of　taste；　would
she　not　prefer　wee；　round；　glancing　heads；　and　pointed　beaks；
peeping　from　under　her　wings；　to　these　teaspoon…shaped　things
larger　than　her　own？　　I　wonder！

We　are　training　fourteen　large　young　chickens　to　sit　on　the　perches
in　their　new　house；　instead　of　huddling　together　on　the　floor　as
has　been　their　habit；　because　we　discover　rat…holes　under　the　wire
flooring　occasionally；　and　fear　that　toes　may　be　bitten。　　At　nine
o'clock　Phoebe　and　I　lift　the　chickens　one　by　one；　and；　as　it　were；
glue　them　to　their　perches；　squawking。　　Three　nights　have　we　gone
patiently　through　with　this　performance；　but　they　have　not　learned
the　lesson。　　The　ducks　and　geese　are；　however；　greatly　improved　by
the　application　of　advanced　educational　methods；　and　the　regime　of
perfect　order　and　system　instituted　by　Me　begins　to　show　results。

There　is　no　more　violent　splashing　and　pebbling；　racing；　chasing；
separating。　　The　pole；　indeed；　still　has　to　be　produced；　but　at　the
first　majestic　wave　of　my　hand　they　scuttle　toward　the　shore。　　The
geese　turn　to　the　right；　cross　the　rickyard；　and　go　to　their　pen；
the　May　ducks　turn　to　the　left　for　their　coops；　the　June　ducks
follow　the　hens　to　the　top　meadow；　and　even　the　idiot　gosling　has
an　inspiration　now　and　then　and　stumbles　on　his　own　habitation。

Mrs。　Heaven　has　no　reverence　for　the　principles　of　Comenius；
Pestalozzi；　or　Herbert　Spencer　as　applied　to　poultry；　and　when　the
ducks　and　geese　came　out　of　the　pond　badly　the　other　night　and　went
waddling　and　tumbling　and　hissing　all　over　creation；　did　not
approve　of　my　sending　them　back　into　the　pond　to　start　afresh。

〃I　consider　it　a　great　waste　of　time；　of　good　time；　miss；〃　she
said；　〃and；　after　all；　do　you　consider　that　educated　poultry　will
be　any　better　eating；　or　that　it　will　lay　more　than　one　egg　a　day；
miss？〃

I　have　given　the　matter　some　attention；　and　I　fear　Mrs。　Heaven　is
right。　　A　duck；　a　goose；　or　a　hen　in　which　I　have　developed　a
larger　brain；　implanted　a　sense　of　duty；　or　instilled　an　idea　of
self…government；　is　likely；　on　the　whole；　to　be　leaner；　not　fatter。
There　is　nothing　like　obeying　the　voice　of　conscience　for　taking
the　flesh　off　one's　bones；　and；　speaking　of　conscience；　Phoebe；
whose　metaphysics　are　of　the　farm　farmy；　says　that　hers　〃felt　like
a　hunlaid　hegg　for　dyes〃　after　she　had　jilted　the　postman。

As　to　the　eggs；　I　am　sure　the　birds　will　go　on　laying　one　a　day　for
'tis　their　nature　to。　　Whether　the　product　of　the　intelligent；
conscious；　logical　fowl；　will　be　as　rich　in　quality　as　that　of　the
uneducated　and　barbaric　bird；　I　cannot　say；　but　it　ought　at　least
to　be　equal　to　the　Denmark　egg　eaten　now　by　all　Londoners；　and　if；
perchance；　left　uneaten；　it　is　certain　to　be　a　very　superior　wife
and　mother。

While　we　are　discussing　the　subject　of　educating　poultry；　I　confess
that　the　case　of　Cannibal　Ann　gives　me　much　anxiety。　　Twice　in　her
short　career　has　she　been　under　suspicion　of　eating　her　own　eggs；
but　Phoebe　has　never　succeeded　in　catching　her　in　flagrante
delicto。　　That　eminent　detective　service　was　reserved　for　me；　and　I
have　been　haunted　by　the　picture　ever　since。　　It　is　an　awful　sight
to　witness　a　hen　gulp　her　own　newly…laid　fresh　egg；　yolk；　white；
shell；　and　all；　to　realise　that　you　have　fed；　sheltered；　chased；
and　occasionally　run　in；　a　being　possessed　of　no　moral　sense；　a
being　likely　to　set　a　bad　example；　inculcate　vicious　habits　among
her　innocent　sisters；　and　lower　the　standard　of　an　entire　poultry…
yard。　　The　Young　Poultry　Keeper's　Friend　gives　us　no　advice　on　this
topic；　and　we　do　not　know　whether　to　treat　Cannibal　Ann　as　the
victim　of　a　disease；　or　as　a　confirmed　criminal；　whether　to
administer　remedies　or　cut　her　off　in　the　flower　of　her　youth。

We　have　had　a　sad　scene　to…night。　　A　chick　has　been　ailing　all　day；
and　when　we　shut　up　the　brood　we　found　him　dead　in　a　corner。

Phoebe　put　him　on　the　ground　while　she　busied　herself　about　the
coop。　　The　other　chicks　came　out　and　walked　about　the　dead　one
again　and　again；　eyeing　him　curiously。

〃Poor　little　chap！〃　said　Phoebe。　　〃E's　never　'ad　a　mother！　　'E　was
an　incubytor　chicken；　and　wherever　I　took　'im　'e　was　picked　at。
There　was　somethink　wrong　with　'im；　'e　never　was　a　fyvorite！〃

I　put　the　fluffy　body　into　a　hole　in　the　turf；　and　strewed　a
handful　of　grass　over　him。　　〃Sad　little　epitaph！〃　I　thought。　　〃He
never　was　a　fyvorite！〃



CHAPTER　VIII



July　13th。

I　like　to　watch　the　Belgian　hares　eating　their　trifolium　or　pea…
pods　or　grass；　graceful；　gentle　things　they　are；　crowding　about　Mr。
Heaven；　and　standing　prettily；　not　greedily；　on　their　hind　legs；　to
reach　for　the　clover；　their　delicate　nostrils　and　whiskers　all　a…
quiver　with　excitement。

As　I　look　out　of　my　window　in　the　dusk　I　can　see　one　of　the　mothers
galloping　across　the　enclosure；　the　soft　white　lining　of　her　tail
acting　as　a　beacon…light　to　the　eight　infant　hares　following　her；　a
quaint　procession　of　eight　white　spots　in　it　glancing　line。　　In　the
darkest　night　those　baby　creatures　could　follow　their　mother
through　grass　or　hedge　or　thicket；　and　she　would　need　no　warning
note　to　show　them　where　to　flee　in　case　of　danger。　　〃All　you　have
to　do　is　to　follow　the　white　night…light　that　I　keep　in　the　lining
of　my　tail；〃　she　says；　when　she　is　giving　her　first　maternal
lectures；　and　it　seems　a　beneficent　provision　of　Nature。　　To　be
sure；　Mr。　Heaven　took　his　gun　and　went　out　to　shoot　wild　rabbits
to…day；　and　I　noted　that　he　marked　them　by　those　same　self…
betraying　tails；　as　they　scuttled　toward　their　holes　or　leaped
toward　the　protecting　cover　of　the　hedge；　so　it　does　not　appear
whether　Nature　is　on　the　side　of　the　farmer　or　the　rabbit　。　。　。

There　is　as　much　comedy　and　as　much　tragedy　in　poultry　life　as
anywhere；　and　already　I　see　rifts　within　lutes。　　We　have　in　a　cage
a　French　gentleman　partridge　married　to　a　Hungarian　lady　of
defective　sight。　　He　paces　back　and　forth　in　the　pen　restlessly；
anything　but　content　with　the　domestic　fireside。　　One　can　see
plainly　that　he　is　devoted　to　the　Boulevards；　and　that　if　left　to
his　own　inclinations　he　would　never　have　chosen　any　spouse　but　a
thorough　Parisienne。

The　Hungarian　lady　is　blind　of　one　eye；　from　some　stray　shot；　I
suppose。　　She　is　melancholy　at　all　times；　and　occasionally　goes　so
far　as　to　beat　her　head　against　the　wire　netting。　　If　liberated；
Mr。　Heaven　says　that　her　blindness　would　only　expose　her　to　death
at　the　hands　of　the　first　sportsman；　and　it　always　seems　to　me　as
if　she　knows　this；　and　is　ever　trying　to　decide　whether　a　loveless
marriage　is　any　better　than　the　tomb。

Then；　again；　the　great；　grey　gander　is；　for　some　mysterious　reason；
out　of　favour　with　the　entire　family。　　He　is　a　noble　and　amiable
bird；　by　far　the　best　all…round　character　in　the　flock；　for　dignity
of　mien　and　large…minded　common…sense。　　What　is　the　treatment
vouchsafed　to　this　blameless　husband　and　father？　　One　that　puts
anybody　out　of　sorts　with　virtue　and　its　scant　rewards。　　To　begin
with；　the　others　will　not　allow　him　to　go　into　the　pond。　　There　is
an　organised　cabal　against　it；　and　he　sits　solitary　on　the　bank；
calm　and　resigned；　but；　naturally；　a　trifle　hurt。　　His　favourite
retreat　is　a　tiny　sort　of　island　on　the　edge　of　the　pool　under　the
alders；　where　with　his　bent　head；　and　red…rimmed　philosophic　eyes
he　regards　his　own　breast　and　dreams　of　happier　days。　　When　the
others　walk　into　the　country　twenty