rom the bill of an old Spanish hen, an
inveterate cackler, who used to fly over the neighbouring fence and
wander, with happy, self-communing clucks about my vegetable garden.

"Yes young man you are young, you may feel bigger than I am, but you are
not quite so tough, indeed toughness alone has saved me my life for a
good many Christmas mornings. I am a tough old hen, I have seen the
world; I have traveled. You know the island in the Napa River just above
the railroad bridge? Well, I was wrecked there in my young days and it
happened in this manner.

"The spring of the year 18-- was a wet one; snow fell in the foothills
and when it melted, the waters rushed down through the canons and filled
the river. Our coop, (I say ours as I had a husband then,) stood near
the bank, and the rising water carried it away. I shall never forget the
night. It was Billy's last night on earth; Billy was my better half, and
a handsome, young cock he was, all the young pullets in the yard had
yellow combs, from envy, the day we were married. Old Partlett with her
brood of twelve ducks tried her best to get him, but Billy said he
didn't think it was quite the most moral thing in the world for a hen of
her age to hatch out ducks and it set a bad example to the young
'broilers' who were growing up about us, so he declined her proposals
with thanks and sent her off with her ugly-mouthed off-spring. Well, as
I was saying, our coop was carried down the stream, Billy and I
balancing ourselves on the upper roost and speaking words of comfort to
cheer up each other's fast fainting gizzards. We hens have a proverb
which says, 'A life without hope is an egg without a yolk, a gizzard
without gravel,' and that night proved the words to be true. Suddenly
down went Billy into the roaring flood. I can see his yellow spurs as he
went under, and his clutching claws, those beautiful, shining claws that
only walked the path of virtue, as far as I knew. Alas how I fluttered,
I tried to crow for help but it was useless, I could no more do it than
the hens of your genus can whistle. Billy went out forever.

"How I remember his kindness now; how he would find the best worms and
grasshoppers and always call me to see them before he ate them, not as
that old beast Cochin China does, who not even lets his wife look at the
delicious morsels he swallows.

"Billy is gone, so I will not regret him for he is probably chief
crower in St. Peter's hennery now. How Peter m