THE POULTRY-YARD. 



'75 



yard ; but I suppose it is a sort of lusus natures. Another 

 phenomenon is that, if I, growing suspicious, issue an edict 

 that he shall not keep poultry in my compound, n ine begin 

 to die off. Bowing to the inevitable, therefore, I make a 

 compromise, permitting him to keep a limited number which 

 are hostages for the health of mine. If a wild cat commits 

 ravages night after night among my poultry, choosing, with 

 the eye of a judge, all the best birds, and carrying them off 

 silently, without leaving a feather to mark its course, then I 

 hold a Naval Demonstration at once, firing off a prodigious 

 amount of blank cartridge, to the effect that by this time 

 to-morrow not one feather of the cook's stock shall be 

 seen on my premises. At once the wild cat discontinues 

 its visits, and things go well again, and Pedro's poultry 

 are not banished. 



Thus it comes about that in my compound there is 

 rather a mixed population. The time to make acquaint- 

 ance with them is early in the morning when Pedro 

 emerges with a platter full of grain, and, standing in an 

 open place, cries, with the voice of a herald, Ah, Ah, Ah! 

 The stirring cry of "house on fire" in a great city has not 

 the magic power of those three syllables in a poultry-yard. 

 The fat foreign hen starts at the sound, and runs faster 



