THE PHEASANT 
Next day it was the same 
and the next. Now that 
her wings were clipped she 
had no sure escape from the 
loathed advances of the " Chic- 
kery-Cock," from the sly spite- 
fulness of the hens. Never- 
theless, as the spirit of her 
old-time forbears had not been 
shorn away with her quills, 
she still ran to the wood. For 
half a day she had tasted of 
the cup of freedom, and, like all who drink 
that intoxicating draught, she believed that 
henceforward it would be a panacea for all 
her ills. Hence, although scraping in the 
dunghill would have won her more succulent 
food, she shunned it, as she shunned the 
porridge which men threw to her, and fed on 
scantier woodland fare, clucking lackadaisically. 
And as where she went, the " Chickery-Cock " 
with his seraglio must follow, it became quite 
a common thing for the Tonsella fowls to 
wander farther afield than ever before. But 
the days went by, and the Yellow Pullet never 
saw Creaban. 
Until that Sunday when the shot snipped 
away the twigs behind the tail, Creaban had 
considered men a nuisance, though nothing 
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