35 8 Next to the Ground 



provocation, or none at all, but it is a cracked 

 unbalanced cackling, thin and reedy, half- 

 way through, then suddenly pitched three 

 keys lower. Upon rainy days the whole 

 fowlyard gather in open sheltered spaces, as 

 in a shed, or underneath a high-set outhouse, 

 stand each upon one foot, with the head sunk 

 between the shoulders, uttering now and then 

 a sleepy croon, and never venturing out in 

 the rain unless hard pressed by hunger. 



Nature orders all things wisely. When 

 her feathered children are thus under stress 

 she spreads for them the richest table of all 

 the year. Grain, grass, and weed seed, ten- 

 der green stuff, fruits, bugs, worms, slugs, 

 caterpillars, grasshoppers, butterflies, all 

 abound, to tempt and to refresh. They help 

 in bringing every manner of fowl to the 

 glory of span-new feathers, gorgeously irides- 

 cent, red combs, and shiny well-oiled boots. 

 Even rumpless chickens, which are born 

 without tails, hence seem always the patterns 

 of subdued and ill-used humility, become to 

 a degree high and saucy, in early October. 

 Better made cocks crow and fight, hens flaunt 

 and sing aloud, turkeys vaingloriously strut 

 and gobble, guinea fowl smooth and preen 

 their fine spotted plumage, stretch their curi- 

 ous topknots to the utmost, and keep stren- 

 uous watch and ward. In that they are 



