young cockerels all over the place. And they've had a very happy life."
"But so short." She looked pensive.
"I shall let all mine grow up to be hardy old cocks," said Derek.
"And Mrs. Machin will make you eat them in the end," retorted the clergyman. He went on: "Now, what do you suppose happened while I was at church this morning? I had six hens setting in an old corn crib, and if you'll believe me, they all hatched their broods during the service. Thirteen apiece. When I fed them at eight o'clock there were just a few shells chipped. When I went to them after Matins, there were seventy-eight little chicks, all dry, and as yellow as daffodils. 'Worthy old hens!' I exclaimed, 'you have my deepest respect.'"
"When had you set them?" asked Miss Jerrold, innocently.
"Three weeks ago to the very day."
"On a Sunday," shouted Mr. Jerrold. "Well done, Grace! You cornered him. The parson sets six hens on the Sabbath. No wonder my watched stopped!"
"Come, this is too cruel," expostulated Mr. Ramsey. "What was I to do? The hens were clucking. The eggs were warm. I said a little prayer over each, and so made a respectable ceremony of it. The resultant chicks look as though they had just fluttered down from Heaven."
It was plain that he was eager to spend the remainder of the afternoon talking about his poultry, but Mr. Jerrold proposed that they take a stroll about the farm. He wanted to show Derek the stock, and to get Mr. Ramsey's opinion of a new mare.
The two older men walked ahead, Derek following with Grace Jerrold. He felt an increasing sense of happiness in
