THE RUMPLESS FOWL. 265 
There lives, in the village of Walton, an old 
woman notorious for rearing poultry. Her name 
is Nanny Ackroyd. Some few years ago, I had 
seen a pair of rumpless fowls feeding at her door. 
I called on Nanny the other day, and I asked 
her where she had procured the fowls; and if 
they had ever had a brood. She told me, that 
she had got them from the Isle of Wight; and 
that they had produced seven rumpless chickens, 
which she sold at the Market-cross, in Wakefield ; 
but that she could not get the full price for them, 
as her customers did not fancy them, on account 
of their want of tail. On asking her what had 
become of the parent fowls, she said, that they 
both suddenly disappeared, a few weeks after she 
had sold the young ones, at the Market-cross, 
in Wakefield. Two or three unknown mendicants 
had been lurking in the outskirts of the village ; 
and she was sure the vagabonds had nipped up her 
poor fowls. 
My own rumpless fowl, mentioned above, came 
to an untimely end. He was at the keeper’s house; 
and as the keeper had got a tame fox, I foresaw 
that some day or other, my bird would fall into its 
clutches. To prevent the impending catastrophe, 
I sent up one morning to the keeper, and desired 
that the fowl might be brought down to the hall 
in the evening. A giant Malay fowl espied it as soon 
as it had left its roost the next day; and, indignant 
at the appearance of such a rival-stranger on the 
island, he drove it headlong into the water, where 
it perished before assistance could be procured. 
