THE POULTRY-YARD. 



the wind like a sail, with plenty of feathers and no fle.sh, 

 and weighing about three-quarters of a pound ? In calling 

 it a game bird I do not mean that sahibs shoot it, for it 

 lives much about villages, like the peafowl in Guzerat, and 

 its semi-domesticated habits almost preclude its being shot 

 for sport ; but it is much hunted by Goanese and Madras 

 cooks, who pursue it with stones and short sticks thrown 

 boomerang-wise. It runs amazingly and flies well, and 

 affords excellent sport. It cannot be said to have a high 

 game flavour ; in fact, it has a decidedly low flavour, the 

 result of vicious tastes. 



I once used to keep a stock of these birds as a substitute 

 for domestic fowls, but I have given them up. I cannot 

 stand their ways. It is not that they will eat all you give 

 them, and hang about the cook-house for scraps besides, 

 yet absolutely refuse to grow fat; it is not that when they 

 do, once a quarter, contribute to your breakfast nine or ten 

 muddy-coloured eggs, and you essay to try one, you have 

 to institute a search with your spoon in the depths of the 

 egg-cup for the minute globule ; it is not that when you 

 do obtain it, it is redolent of garlic and wild flavours. It 

 is none of these. The last straw which breaks the camelV 

 back of my patience is that, as soon as she has produced 



