The Bay of the Band 
new feathers to take the places of these that are 
missing. 
Well, why, in all this time, if these three feathers 
are so necessary, has he not gotten them? He might 
reply, “Which of you by taking thought can add as 
much as one cubit to your stature, to say nothing of 
three hairs to the top of your head?” By taking time 
(which is a fine human phrase for giving Nature time), 
and with the right conditions, you may add the cubit. 
So the crow may get his feathers. It is not an affair 
between the crow and his feathers, nor between the 
crow and Nature. It is wholly Nature’s affair with 
the crow’s feathers, and so seriously does Nature 
take it, so careful is she, so systematic, so almost 
arbitrary about it, that the feathers of crows, like 
the hairs of our heads, can truly be said to be num- 
bered. | 
Nothing could look more haphazard, certainly, than 
the way a hen’s feathers seem to drop off at moulting 
time. The most forlorn, undone, abject creature about 
the farm is the half-moulted hen. There is one in the 
chicken yard now, so nearly naked that she really is 
ashamed of herself, and so miserably helpless that 
she squats in a corner all night, unable to reach the 
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