concerning fowls and pools.

one morning the sudberry family sat on the green hill-side, in front of the white house, engaged in their usual morning amusement—feeding the cocks and hens.

it is astonishing what an amount of interest may be got up in this way! if one goes at it with a sort of philanthropico-philosophical spirit, a full hour of genuine satisfaction may be thus obtained—not to speak of the joy imparted to the poultry, and the profound glimpses obtained into fowl character.

there were about twenty hens, more or less, and two cocks. with wonderful sagacity did these creatures come to perceive that when the sudberrys brought out chairs and stools after breakfast, and sat down thereon, they, the fowls, were in for a feed! and it was surprising the punctuality with which they assembled each fine morning for this purpose.

most of the family simply enjoyed the thing; but mr sudberry, in addition to enjoying it, studied it. he soon came to perceive that the cocks were cowardly wretches, and this gave him occasion to point out to his wife the confiding character and general superiority of female nature, even in hens. the two large cocks could not be prevailed on to feed out of the hand by any means. under the strong influence of temptation they would strut with bold aspect, but timid, hesitating step, towards the proffered crumb, but the slightest motion would scare them away; and when they did venture to peck, they did so with violent haste, and instantly fled in abject terror.

it was this tendency in these ignoble birds that exasperated poor jacky, whose chief delight was to tempt the unfortunate hens to place unlimited confidence in him, and then clutch them by the beaks or heads, and hold them wriggling in his cruel grasp; and it was this tendency that induced him, in the heat of disappointment, and without any reference whatever to sex, to call the cocks “big hens!”

the hens, on the other hand, exhibited gentle and trusting natures. of course there was vanity of character among them, as there is among ladies; but, for the most part, they were wont to rush towards their human friends in a body, and peck the crumbs—at first timidly, then boldly—from their palms. there was one hen—a black and ragged one, with only half a tail, and a downtrodden aspect—which actually went the length of jumping up on little tilly’s knee, and feeding out of her lap. it even allowed her to stroke its back, but it evidently permitted rather than enjoyed the process.

on the morning in question, the black hen was bolder than usual; perhaps it had not breakfasted that day, for it was foremost in the rush when the family appeared with chairs and stools, and leaped on tilly’s knee, without invitation, as soon as she was seated; whereupon tilly called it “a dear darling pretty ’ittle pet,” and patted its back.

“why, the creature seems quite fond of you, my child,” said mrs sudberry.

“so it is, mamma. it loves me, i know, by the way it looks at me with its beautiful black eye. what a pity the other is not so nice! i think the poor darling must be blind of that eye.”

there was no doubt about that. blackie’s right eye was blinder than any bat’s; it was an opaque white ball—a circumstance which caused it no little annoyance, for the other eye had to do duty for both, and this involved constant screwing of the head about, and unwearied watchfulness. it was as if a solitary sentinel were placed to guard the front and back doors of a house at one and the same time. despite blackie’s utmost care, jacky got on her blind side more than once, and caught her by the remnant of her poor tail. this used to spoil tilly’s morning amusement, and send her sorrowful into the house. but what did that matter to jacky? he sometimes broke out worse than usual, and set the whole brood into an agitated flutter, which rather damaged the happiness of the family. but what did that matter to jacky?

oh! he was a “darling child,” according to his mother.

for some time the feeding went on quietly enough. the fowls were confiding. mr sudberry was becoming immensely philosophical; mrs sudberry was looking on in amiable gratification; george had prevailed on a small white hen to allow him to scratch her head; fred was taking a rapid portrait of the smallest cock; lucy had drawn the largest concourse towards herself by scattering her crumbs on the ground; jacky had only caught two chickens by their beaks and one hen by its tail, and was partially strangling another; and the nine mcallister dogs were ranged in a semicircle round the group, looking on benignantly, and evidently inclined to put in for a share, but restrained by the memory of past rebuffs—when little blackie, standing on tilly’s knee, and having eaten a large share of what was going, raised itself to its full height, flapped its wings, and gave utterance to a cackle of triumph! a burst of laughter followed—and tilly gave a shriek of delighted surprise that at once dissolved the spell, and induced the horrified fowl to seek refuge in precipitate flight.

“by the way,” said mrs sudberry, “that reminds me that this would be a most charming day for your excursion over the mountains to that lake what-you-may-call-it.”

what connection there was between the little incident just described and the excursion to lake “what-you-may-call-it” we cannot pretend to state; but there must have been some sort of connection in mrs sudberry’s brain, and we record her observation because it was the origin of this day’s proceedings. mr sudberry had, for some time past, talked of a long walking excursion with the whole family to a certain small loch or tarn among the hills. mrs sudberry had made up her mind,—first, that she would not go; and second, that she would get everyone else to go, in order to let mrs brown and hobbs have a thorough cleaning-up of the house. this day seemed to suit for the excursion—hence her propounding of the plan. poor delicate tilly seldom went on long expeditions,—she was often doomed to remain at home.

mr sudberry shouted, “capital! huzza!” clapped his hands, and rushed into the house to prepare, scattering the fowls like chaff in a whirlwind. fired by his example, the rest of the family followed.

“but we must have our bathe first, papa,” cried lucy.

“certainly, my love, there will be time for that.” so away flew lucy to the nursery, whence she re-issued with jacky, tilly, mrs brown, and towels.

the bathing-pool was what george called a “great institution.” in using this slang expression george was literally correct, for the bathing-pool was not a natural feature of the scenery: it was artificial, and had been instituted a week after the arrival of the family. the loch was a little too far from the house to be a convenient place of resort for ablutionary purposes. close beside the house ran a small burn. its birthplace was one of those dark glens or “corries” situated high up among those mountains that formed a grand towering background in all fred’s sketches of the white house. its bed was rugged and broken—a deep cutting, which the water had made on the hill-side. here was quite a forest of dwarf-trees and shrubs; but so small were they, and so deep the torrent’s bed, that you could barely see the tree-tops as you approached the spot over the bare hills. in dry weather this burn tinkled over a chaos of rocks, forming myriads of miniature cascades and hosts of limpid little pools. during heavy rains it ran roaring riotously over its rough bed with a force that swept to destruction whatever chanced to come in its way.

in this burn, screened from observation by an umbrageous coppice, was the bathing-pool. no pool in the stream was deep enough, in ordinary weather, to take jacky above the knees; but one pool had been found, about two hundred yards from the house, which was large enough, if it had only been deeper. to deepen it, therefore, they went—every member of the family.

let us recall the picture:—

father, in shirt sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, and trousers rolled up to the knees, in the middle of the pool, trying to upheave from the bottom a rock larger than himself—if he only knew it! but he doesn’t, because it is deeply embedded, therefore he toils on in hope. george building, with turf and stone, a strong embankment with a narrow outlet, to allow the surplus water to escape. fred, lucy, tilly, and peter cutting turf and carrying stones. mother superintending the whole, and making remarks. jacky making himself universally disagreeable, and distracting his mother in a miscellaneous sort of way.

“it’s as good as robinson crusoe any day!” cries father, panting and wiping his bald forehead. “what a stone! i can’t budge it.” he stoops again, to conquer, if possible; but the great difficulty with father is, that the water comes so near to his tucked-up trousers that he cannot put forth his full strength without wetting them; and mother insists that this must not be done. “come, george and fred, bring the pick-axe and the iron lever, we must have this fellow out, he’s right in the middle of the pool. now, then, heave!”

the lads obey, and father straddles so fiercely that one leg slips down.

“hah! there, you’ve done it now!” from mother.

“well, my dear, it can’t be helped,” meekly, from father, who is secretly glad, and prepares to root out the stone like a hercules. jacky gets excited, and hopes the other leg will slip down and get wet, too!

“here, hand me the lever, george; you don’t put enough force to it.” george obeys and grins. “now then, once more, with will—ho! hi! hup!” father strains at the lever, which, not having been properly fixed, slips, and he finds himself suddenly in a sitting posture, with the water round his waist. as the cool element embraces his loins, he “h–ah–ah!” gasps, as every bather knows how; but the shock to his system is nothing compared with the aggravation to his feelings when he hears the joyful yell of triumph that issues from the brazen lungs of his youngest hope.

“never mind, i’ll work all the better now—come, let us be jolly, and clear out the rest of the pool.” good man! nothing can put him out. gradually the bottom is cleared of stones, (excepting the big one), and levelled, and the embankment is built to a sufficient height.

“now for the finishing touch!” cries george; “bring the turf; fred—i’m ready!” the water of the burn is rushing violently through the narrow outlet in the “dike.” a heavy stone is dropped into the gap, and turf is piled on.

“more turf! more stones! quick, look alive!—it’ll burst everything—there, that’s it!”

all hands toil and work at the opening, to smother it up. the angry element leaks through, bursts, gushes—is choked back with a ready turf; and squirts up in their faces. mother is stunned to see the power of so small a stream when the attempt is made to check it thoroughly; she is not mechanically-minded by nature, and has learned nothing in that way by education. it is stopped at last, however.

for a quarter of an hour the waters from above are cut off from those below, as completely as were those of the jordan in days of old. they all stand panting and silent, watching the rising of the water, while george keeps a sharp eye on the dike to detect and repair any weakness. at last it is full, and the surplus runs over in a pretty cascade, while the accommodating stream piles mud and stones against the dike, and thus unwittingly strengthens the barrier. the pool is formed, full three feet deep by twenty broad. jacky wants to bathe at once.

“but the pool is like pea-soup, my pet—wait until it clears.”

“i won’t—let me bathe!”

“o jacky, my darling!”

he does; for in his struggles he slips on the bank, goes in head foremost, and is fished out in a disgusting condition!

so the bathing-pool was made. it was undoubtedly a “great institution;” they did not know at the time, that, like many such institutions, it was liable to destruction; but they lived to see it.

meanwhile, to return from this long digression, lucy, tilly, and jacky bathed, while mrs brown watched and scolded. this duty performed, they returned to the house, where they found the remainder of the party ready for a journey on foot to lake “what-you-may-call-it,” which lake lucy named the lake of the clouds, its gaelic cognomen being quite unpronounceable.