AN UNPROGRESSIVE FARM 19 



of picking up their feet, for all the world as 

 though they cared where they stepped; the 

 absent and superior manner in which they 

 &quot;scratch for worms,&quot; their gaze fixed on the 

 sky, then cock their heads downwards with 

 an indifferent air, absently pick up a chip, 

 drop it, and walk on ! Did any one ever see a 

 hen really find a worm? I never did. There 

 are no worms in our barnyard, anyhow; 

 Jonathan must have dug them all up for bait 

 when he was a boy. I have even tried throw 

 ing some real worms to them, and they always 

 respond by a few nervous cackles, and walk 

 past the brown wrigglers with a detached 

 manner, and the robins get them later. And 

 yet they continue to go through all these 

 forms, and we continue to call it &quot;scratching 

 for worms.&quot; 



Jonathan has nothing to do with my hens 

 except to give advice. One of his hobbies is 

 the establishing of a breed of hens marked by 

 intelligence, which he maintains might be 

 done by careful selection of the mothers. 

 Accordingly, whenever he goes to the roost 

 to pick out a victim for the sacrificial hatchet, 

 he first gently pulls the tail of each candidate 



