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THE PIGEON Where?
THE TURKEY In that old basket.
THE PIGEON [_More and more interested._] Of what breed is she?
THE TURKEY She is just a good old-fashioned Gascon hen, born in the neighbourhood of Pau.
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting out his head._] She is the one Henry the Fourth wished to see cooking in every Frenchman's pot!
THE PIGEON How proud she must be of having hatched such a c.o.c.k!
THE TURKEY Yes, proud with a lowly foster-mother's pride. Her beloved chick is coming to his inches, that is all she seems to understand or care about.
And when you tell her this, her clouded reason gives a momentary gleam-- [_Calling towards the basket._] Hey, old lady, he is growing!
ALL THE HENS He is growing!
[_The lid of the basket is suddenly lifted, and a bristling aged hen's head appears._]
THE PIGEON [_To the_ OLD HEN, _gently and feelingly._] Does it make you happy, mother, to think of him grown to a big fine c.o.c.k?
THE OLD HEN [_Nodding, sententiously._] Happy?--Wednesday's crops do credit to Tuesday! [_She disappears, the lid drops._]
THE TURKEY She opens now and then, like that, and ping! shoots at us some such pearl of homely lore--
THE PIGEON [_To the_ WHITE HEN.] White Hen!
THE TURKEY --not always wholly without point!
THE OLD HEN [_Reappearing for an instant._] In the Peac.o.c.k's absence, the Turkey spreads his tail!
[_The_ TURKEY _turns quickly around, the lid has already dropped._]
THE PIGEON [_To the_ WHITE HEN.] Is it a fact that Chantecler is never hoa.r.s.e, never the very least husky?
THE WHITE HEN [_Keeping on with her pecking._] Perfectly true.
THE PIGEON [_With growing enthusiasm._] Ah, you must be proud c.o.c.k who will be numbered among Ill.u.s.trious Animals and his name remembered five, ten, fifteen years!
THE TURKEY Very proud. Very proud. [_To a_ CHICK.] Who are the Ill.u.s.trious Animals?
Tell them off!
THE CHICK [_Reciting a lesson._] Noah's Dove--Saint Rocco's Poodle--The--the Horse of Cali--
THE TURKEY Cali--?
THE CHICK [_Trying to remember._] Cali--
THE PIGEON This c.o.c.k, now--this c.o.c.k of yours--Is it true that his song attunes, inspires, encourages, makes labour light, and keeps off birds of prey?
THE WHITE HEN [_Pecking._] Perfectly true.
THE CHICK [_Still hunting for his word._] Cali--Cali--
THE PIGEON White Hen, is it true that by his song, defender of the warm and sacred egg, he has frequently kept the lissome weasel from--
THE BLACKBIRD [_Looking out between the bars._]--messing his shirtfront with omelette?
THE WHITE HEN Perfectly true.
THE CHICK Cali--
THE TURKEY [_Helping him._] Gu?
THE CHICK Gu--
THE PIGEON Is it true--?
THE CHICK [_Jumping for joy at having found._] Gula!
THE PIGEON --true that, as report says, he has a secret for his amazing singing, a secret whereby his crow becomes the brilliant burst of red which makes the poppies of the field feel themselves contemptible imitations?
THE WHITE HEN [_Weary of this questioning._] Perfectly true.
THE PIGEON That secret, that great secret, is it known to anyone?
THE WHITE HEN No.
THE PIGEON He has not even told his Hen?
THE WHITE HEN [_Correcting him._] His Hens.
THE PIGEON [_Slightly shocked._] Ah, he has more than one?
THE BLACKBIRD He crows, remember, you only coo.
THE PIGEON Well, then, he has not even told his favourite?
THE TUFTED HEN [_Promptly._] No, he has not!
THE WHITE HEN [_As promptly._] No, he has not!
THE BLACK HEN [_As promptly._] No, he has not!
THE BLACKBIRD [_Thrusting out his head._] Hush!--An aerial drama! The b.u.t.terfly, absorbed in his head of blossom, banquets, all oblivious of--
[_A great green gauze b.u.t.terfly-net appears above the wall, softly coming towards the_ b.u.t.tERFLY _settled on one of the flowers._]
A HEN What is that?
