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Rev. C. D. Farrar,



cover over it; for the weather is so erratic in Yorkshire that one

never knows whether it is the morning of Eden or the eve of

the Flood.


It was not very long before the hen began building a

pretty domed nest of hay in a bush, with a little circular hole

towards the light. The foundation was fairly solid, but the

dome was exceedingly flimsy, only calculated to keep out a little

sunshine, but no rain I am certain. Eggs were duly laid, but I

believe I foolishly touched them, for they disappeared. That

piece of insensate folly had come home to roost, and it was days

before Hope reset her bow of Promise.


One morning when I was filling the seed pots, I happened

to glance up, and saw what I thought to be a ragged bundle of

hay. The performance was now lifted into what is called in

the theatre a situation of suspense. I got up and went tip-toeing

to the sticks and peeped a second, very much as the mate of a

vessel goes to his binnacle, and then taking a look aloft, resumes

his watch. This bit of luck lifted up my heart, like a bit of

sunshine on a gloomy road. The nest was rather an untidy

structure, as ragged, in fact, as a six-days’ beard.


About this time I felt it advisable to remove the second

lady, as the fighting was early and late. I was reminded of the

Scotch minister who was a noted boxer, and proposed to teach

his man to fight. He landed on his chest with his right—down

went John. Again the minister’s left found its way to his nose.

This was repeated over and over again, John meanwhile retreat¬

ing to the wall, and once there the minister continued, hammer

and tongs, left, right, left, right, for ten minutes. At last he

Stopped, and said “Now, John, what do you think of that?”

“ Faith, minister,” said John, “ I’ll fecht 11a mail'.” Well, that

was what hen No. 2 said. It’s easy to sing “ Dare to be a

Daniel,” but it is none so easy to do. The morning I found that

second nest I went out of the aviary with a face as cheerful as

the sun.


For some days I felt as nervous as a school-boy who is

going to be thrashed in the near future; for I wanted to know if

there were eggs, but I did not dare to look, much less to feel.


However, as Mrs. “ Ruficauda ” remained on the nest, and



