le one of them wiped
away the tears that were running down her pretty cheeks. I looked! It
was fatal! I did not look again, but I was smitten to the very heart! I
did not speak to her for six years, but when I did, it was all right with
both of us, thank God! and I've been in love with her ever since, when
she behaves herself!"

That is the way they speak of love in Barbury Green, and oh! how much
sweeter and more wholesome it is than the language of the town! Who
would not be a Goose Girl, "to win the secret of the weed's plain heart"?
It seems to me that in society we are always gazing at magic-lantern
shows, but here we rest our tired eyes with looking at the stars.

CHAPTER XI

{A Hen Conference: p79.jpg}

July 16th.

Phoebe and I have been to a Hen Conference at Buffington. It was for the
purpose of raising the standard of the British Hen, and our local
Countess, who is much interested in poultry, was in the chair.

It was a very learned body, but Phoebe had coached me so well that at the
noon recess I could talk confidently with the members, discussing the
various advantages of True and Crossed Minorcas, Feverels, Andalusians,
Cochin Chinas, Shanghais, and the White Leghorn. (Phoebe, when she
pronounces this word, leaves out the "h" and bears down heavily on the
last syllable, so that it rhymes with begone!)

As I was sitting under the trees waiting for Phoebe to finish some
shopping in the village, a travelling poultry-dealer came along and
offered to sell me a silver Wyandotte pullet and cockerel. This was a
new breed to me and I asked the price, which proved to be more than I
should pay for a hat in Bond Street. I hesitated, thinking meantime what
a delightful parting gift they would be for Phoebe; I mean if we ever
should part, which seems more and more unlikely, as I shall never leave
Thornycroft until somebody comes properly to fetch me; indeed, unless the
"fetching" is done somewhat speedily I may decline to go under any
circumstances. My indecision as to the purchase was finally banished
when the poultryman asserted that the fowls had clear open centres all
over, black lacing entirely round the white centres, were free from white
edging, and each had a cherry-red eye. This catalogue of charms inflamed
my imagination, though it gave me no mental picture of a silver Wyandotte
fowl, and I paid the money while the dealer crammed the chicks, squawking
into my five-o'clock tea-basket.