the diary of a goose girl(牧鹅女日记)-第7章
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The Diary of a Goose Girl
hens and get them at their daily task； and so he disturbs the entire
community。 In short； I dislike him； his swagger； his autocratic strut； his
greed； his irritating self…consciousness； his endless parading of himself up
and down in a procession of one。
Of course his character is largely the result of polygamy。 His
weaknesses are only what might be expected； and as for the hens； I have
considerable respect for the patience； sobriety； and dignity with which they
endure an institution particularly offensive to all women。 In their case
they do not even have the sustaining thought of its being an article of
religion； so they are to be complimented the more。
There is nothing on earth so feminine as a hennot womanly； simply
feminine。 Those men of insight who write the Woman's Page in the
Sunday newspapers study hens more than women； I sometimes think； at
any rate； their favourite types are all present on this poultry farm。
Some families of White Leghorns spend most of their time in the
rickyard； where they look extremely pretty； their slender white shapes and
red combs and wattles well set off by the background of golden hayricks。
There is a great oak…tree in one corner； with a tall ladder leaning against its
trunk； and a capital roosting…place on a long branch running at right angles
with the ladder。 I try to spend a quarter of an hour there every night
before supper； just for the pleasure of seeing the feathered 〃women…folks〃
mount that ladder。
A dozen of them surround the foot； waiting restlessly for their turn。
One little white lady flutters up on the lowest round and perches there
until she reviews the past； faces the present； and forecasts the future；
during which time she is gathering courage for the next jump。 She
cackles； takes up one foot and then the other； tilts back and forth； holds up
her skirts and drops them again； cocks her head nervously to see whether
they are all staring at her below； gives half a dozen preliminary springs
which mean nothing； declares she can't and won't go up any faster； unties
her bonnet strings and pushes back her hair； pulls down her dress to cover
her toes； and finally alights on the next round； swaying to and fro until she
gains her equilibrium； when she proceeds to enact the same scene over
again。
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All this time the hens at the foot of the ladder are criticising her
methods and exclaiming at the length of time she requires in mounting；
while the cocks stroll about the yard keeping one eye on the ladder；
picking up a seed here and there； and giving a masculine sneer now and
then at the too…familiar scene。 They approach the party at intervals； but
only to remark that it always makes a man laugh to see a woman go up a
ladder。 The next hen； stirred to the depths by this speech； flies up
entirely too fast； loses her head； tumbles off the top round； and has to
make the ascent over again。 Thus it goes on and on； this petite comedie
humaine； and I could enjoy it with my whole heart if Mr。 Heaven did not
insist on sharing the spectacle with me。 He is so inexpressibly dull； so
destitute of humour； that I did not think it likely he would see in the
performance anything more than a flock of hens going up a ladder to roost。
But he did； for there is no man so blind that he cannot see the follies of
women； and； when he forgot himself so far as to utter a few genial； silly；
well…worn reflections upon femininity at large； I turned upon him and
revealed to him some of the characteristics of his own sex； gained from an
exhaustive study of the barnyard fowl of the masculine gender。 He went
into the house discomfited； though chuckling a little at my vehemence； but
at least I have made it for ever impossible for him to watch his hens
without an occasional glance at the cocks。
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The Diary of a Goose Girl
CHAPTER VII
July 12th。
O the pathos of a poultry farm！ Catherine of Aragon； the black
Spanish hen that stole her nest； brought out nine chicks this morning； and
the business…like and marble…hearted Phoebe has taken them away and
given them to another hen who has only seven。 Two mothers cannot be
wasted on these small familiesit would not be profitable； and the older
mother； having been tried and found faithful over seven； has been given
the other nine and accepted them。 What of the bereft one？ She is
miserable and stands about moping and forlorn； but it is no use fighting
against the inevitable； hens' hearts must obey the same laws that govern
the rotation of crops。 Catherine of Aragon feels her lot a bitter one just
now； but in time she will succumb； and lay； which is more to the point。
We have had a very busy evening； beginning with the rats' supper
delicate sandwiches of bread…and…butter spread with Paris green。
We have a new brood of seventeen ducklings just hatched this
afternoon。 When we came to the nest the yellow and brown bunches of
down and fluff were peeping out from under the hen's wings in the
prettiest fashion in the world。
〃It's a noble hen！〃 I said to Phoebe。
〃She ain't so nowble as she looks；〃 Phoebe answered grimly。 〃It was
another 'en that brooded these eggs for near on three weeks and then this
big one come along with a fancy she'd like a family 'erself if she could
steal one without too much trouble； so she drove the rightful 'en off the
nest； finished up the last few days； and 'ere she is in possession of the
ducklings！〃
〃Why don't you take them away from her and give them back to the
first hen； who did most of the work？〃 I asked； with some spirit。
〃Like as not she wouldn't tyke them now；〃 said Phoebe； as she lifted
the hen off the broken egg…shells and moved her gently into a clean box；
on a bed of fresh hay。 We put food and drink within reach of the family；
and very proud and handsome that highway robber of a hen looked； as she
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stretched her wings over the seventeen easily…earned ducklings。
Going back to the old nesting…box； I found one egg forgotten among
the shells。 It was still warm； and I took it up to run across the field with
it to Phoebe。 It was heavy； and the carrying of it was a queer sensation；
inasmuch as it squirmed and 〃yipped〃 vociferously in transit； threatening
so unmistakably to hatch in my hand that I was decidedly nervous。 The
intrepid little youngster burst his shell as he touched Phoebe's apron； and
has become the strongest and handsomest of the brood。
All this tending of downy you
