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. 



