for he is[Pg 37] probably chief crower in St. Peter's hennery now. How Peter must blush when he hears Billy crow, if he has any shame for his past sins. They say St. Peter has to keep all the dead cocks as a sort of punishment and reminder. [Pg 37] "That night I pulled all the yellow feathers out of my tail, (I have Cochin blood in my veins,) and I have gone in black Spanish costume ever since out of respect for Billy. "By morning I was cast with the coop upon a deserted island; there was nothing but a coarse grass that was eatable, but I was almost dead with hunger, and was about giving up in despair when a happy thought struck me, and, I laid an egg, which with a little grass made me a good meal. Each day I laid an egg and ate it, feeling that my life at least could be saved, though I must be forever without society, yet I thanked heaven that hens were made with such resources. Alas! I began to notice that the eggs grew smaller each day and I felt starvation again taking me by the wattles. To die without friends on a desert island, horrible! Alone! Why? Can I not hatch these eggs, can I not raise a brood of little pullets who shall lay eggs for themselves and me? Time passed and I brought from the shells eight little chicks, but alas they were all cocks; poor me. What are they good for on a desert island?[Pg 38] They cannot even keep themselves. Perhaps I had thought too much of Billy during the setting and that influenced the eggs. But my complaint was punished, for all of the brood were caught one day in the current and carried away. Poor, little, posthumous chicks, how your father Billy would have loved you and taught you to crow. Again I tried; this time with more success and brought from the eggs six little, fluffy pullets. All lived and we took turns, off and on, supplying the family with eggs, till one day men passing in a row boat, saw us and took us aboard. We had been on the island for two months. All my six pullets lived and married, and are now in the yard over the fence." [Pg 38] All this time I had been so interested in the story, that I had not noticed the narrator who was in the midst of my lettuce bed busily pulling up the young plants. "Shew there! What are you doing?" I cried. Off she flew with a cackle of derision. Looking after her in astonishment and at my poor lettuce bed, I caught the eye of an old turkey, roosting in an apple tree; he was smiling grimly.
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