LAND AND .WATER. 
August 7, 1915, 
TALES OF THE UlNTAMED. 
MARGOT, THE CAPTIVE MAGPIE (concluded.) 
Adapted from the French by 
Douglas 
Eag ish. 
BENEATH the window-sill where Margot perched a 
rough-hewn block stood square on three supports, 
and gripped in close-graiued wooden jaws the iron 
tongue of an anvil. 
She dropped on this to gain the ground more 
easily. 
The yard was quiet. 
She made a minute survey of it, probing each hole she 
lighted on, turning each suspect stick, each suspect stone. 
She pried in every corner of the bam, climbed up upon the 
footboard of the waggon, and there sat contemplative. 
It was good vantage-ground from which to gauge the 
extent and figure of her new domain, the pleasures which she 
might enjoy, the dangers which she might encounter. 
The cock's loud challenge frightened her at first and 
drove her to the shelter of the wood-pile. But soon, since 
she was not pursued, she ventured out, and saw the cock 
himself, and wondered that so small a bird could voice a 
screech so complex. 
She looked at him suspiciously. She called to mind the 
lure-bird in the thicketj the stuffed owl in the fir tree. 
She minced and flirted round him. But Chanticleer, 
with chest erect, with flaming wattles swinging as he strode, 
surveyed her superciliously. She was not of his harem. 
She assured herself that he was real, and for some time 
she feared him. His gait, his bluster puzzled her; she kept 
clear of his path. 
Later, when she had learnt his ways and understood his 
life, he roused in her the same contempt as others of his kind. 
She lived now half indoors, half out. She sauntered as 
she fancied ; watched everything that passed the yard ; peered 
down the alley; grubbed in corners; tilted stones. 
The sparrows somehow angered her. Perhaps she envied 
their free flight, perhaps their bold approach to Man annoyed 
her by its foolishness. She sometimes swung a beak at them, 
but never caught one fairly. They quickly learnt that she 
was not a hen. 
She risked no fights with Chanticleer nor with his wives. 
They were of size to hold their own. Moreover they were 
prisoners of Man. She had no cause to envy them — as yet. 
But cause soon came. 
The days were quicklylengthening. A warmer sunshine 
filled the sky; a subtler perfume floated in the air; a livelier 
verdure garlanded the trees. 
It was the pairing-time. 
Margot the Spinster lived among the mated — and 
jealousy consumed her, an overwhelming, torturing jealousy, 
which envied hens their scratchings in the dung-heap, their 
sun baths, their exchange of confidence, their every act and 
gesture. 
She spent her rage on Partlet first. Partlet was pam- 
pered favourite, the Queen of the Seraglio. 
Margot drove at her, beak in rest. She hustled her, 
ahe clawed at her, she chased her round and round the yard, 
and rumpled every feather of her body. But for sheer 
breathlessness she would have killed her. 
And Partlet yielded tamely, ran like a partridge, ducked 
her head, and cowered beneath the drubbing. 
Then, one by one, the hens learnt Margot's strength ; 
the drive behind the vigorous beak; the muscles of her neck 
and le^. 
She added cnnning to her enmity, leapt from behind, 
pecked without sign or warning. 
She bullied them, she savaged them, she drove them into 
corners. And there they cowered and let themselves be 
pecked, with crumpled plumes, with heads ducked low, with 
stifled coughs of fear and pain and weakness. 
Long slavery had unnerved them — had left them easy 
prey to foe so instant, so audacious. 
All Lad gone well and lasted long, but for one morning's 
blunder. The Partlets were all busied at their feed, the broad- 
cast corn, strewn by the Woman's hand; and Margot chose 
this fatal time to haze them. 
Their numbers lent them confidence. They left their 
food and flung themselves at Margot. They massed in 
columns, wheeled in lines, and, with necks stretched, attacked 
her. A pretty tumult this. Marmot retreated, but the 
horde pursued. They drove her headlong by sheer weight 
of numbers. They stabbed at her, they mauled her as she 
ran, they plucked her feathers, scratched her. 
The kitchen door stood open, and Margot sought the 
shelter of the house. The horde came after, cackling, mad 
with auger. They surged into the kitchen. But for Man's 
help she had been pecked to pieces. 
From that day Margot left the hens alone. 
She wandered in and out as the mood took her. On 
rainy days she livened things indoors, and so proved of some 
worth. The patrons of the inn would call for her. 
All that was thrown to her she pounced upon, ate what 
she fancied, hid the rest. 
There was no stick, no stone about the yard which did 
not hide a scrap of bread or sugar or potato. And some of 
them hid halfpennies, surprises which the children learnt to 
look for. The fowls searched out the food-scraps. Margot 
was never hungry. She never looked for them agaiu; nor 
were the coppers bright enough to charm her. 
But plated spoons and forks, steel sci.ssors, brooches, 
trinkets, still gripped her with a curious fascination. 
Instinctively she realised that hiding these was criminal. 
She chose her times and chances, and so by cunning gratified 
her lust of secret hoarding. 
She stole a dozen spoons and forks, and hid them in the 
Imrn, deep underground, behind the faggot-pile. Here was 
a treasure-hole of her own finding, packed end to end. 
Her pilfering all but caused a tragedy. 
Eain had stopped work betimes that day and filled the 
inn with loafers. Margot, as usual, hopped about the 
kitchen, bent on amusement, or, if needs be, mischief. A 
dozen farm-hands sprawled about the benches, some surly 
drunk, all quarrelsome. For full five hours they had killed 
time with beer. 
The reckoning came at length. 
The drunkest of them pulled a leathern purse out and 
fumbled at the strings of it. 
He sought for his week's wages, a gleaming mint-bright 
sovereign. He tendered it unsteadily. It slipped between 
his fingers, chinked on the floor, and rolled away. 
He pushed his chair back jerkily; he stooped and brushed 
his hands across the boards; his fuddled eyes saw nothing. 
The others drew their hobnailed boots beneath them, and 
Margot, picking a clear course, slipped out into the night. 
The drunkard started swearing. His comrades stooped 
and joined him in the search. 
Mine hostess and mine host approached, and with keen 
eyes, the only sober ones, scanned every chink and cranny 
in the floor. They could see nothing. Matches were struck 
and candles lit. Still nothing. The drunkard swore the 
louder, blubbered, blustered. Some dirty tyke had picked it 
up. He challenged the whole crowd of them. A set of 
swine, of dirty tykes, who robbed an honest man of his 
week's money ! 
The landlord tried to clear the room. 
He turned on him at once. Yes, clear the room and 
sneak his quid. Be damned to him — he'd see him further 
first. He'd see the whole lot further. 
Then came the blow, launched out in space, but landing 
square on nose opposed to it. The table toppled sideways; 
glasses and bottles shattered on the floor. The woman seized 
the lamp in time, and, backing to a corner, held it high — 
to light a Berserk conflict. Four couples rolled and wrestled 
on the floor, and clawed and mauled each other. 
At length the neighbours parted them. 
The landlord had shrewd doubts about the man; sus- 
pected that the brawl had been arranged. For weeks there 
was a feud within the village. 
And Margot kept her secret. Her hole now held a very 
precious treasure. 
With shortening evenings, Margot stayed indoors. Her 
fear of Man had altogether vanished. She boldly forced 
herself upon his notice. 
The loafers made a pet of her — to her nndoLng. For 
one of them conceived a plan which took the instant fancy of 
his mates. Mai-got was pretty sociable — why not leiira 
Margot to drink beer ! 
It was no easy task at first. The smell of beer disgusted 
her, the amber tint was suspect. 
16 
