(A FABLE IN FOUR SITUATIONS.)

SITUATION FIRST

"I
have only one ambition in this world," said King Albus, addressing the feathered members of his household, "only one ambition."

"And what is that?" said the oldest and the fattest hen, sidling up to him.

"My ambition is," replied the king, strutting about the yard, and looking as haughty and as full of fight as only a Spanish cock can, "to see my detested rival over the fence yonder humbled in the dust."

"You've often said that," remarked the old hen.

"Yes," continued the king, "I mean to do it, too; and his lifeless body shall float down the mill-stream as helpless as a ball of worsted. I have said, and I will do."

"Well, dear," the hen said; "don't forget that King Crèvecœur is a powerful big bird."

"King Crèvecœur! Crève cur I call him. Deprive him of his diphthong, when speaking of him to me, madam, please."

"Well, diphthong, or not diphthong," sang the old hen, picking up a small pebble, and swallowing it, "he is big, and he wears a pair of frightfully long spurs."

"And what a charming plume he has on his head!" cried a young hen; "he looks quite soldierly. Belongs to the dragoons, I suppose."

"Hold your tongue," exclaimed the king; "and go about your business. Plume, indeed! spurs forsooth! The plume, madam, is an airy nothing; the spurs have neither strength nor substance. Now, look at me," this proud king went on, as he flew up on top of an old hurdle, "behold me well. Am I not as white as the driven snow? Is not my comb as red and rosy as crimson daisies, or the sunset's glow at dewy eve?" "Cock-a-doodle—doodle—do—o! Did ever you hear such a crow as that before?"

"Never," said the old hen.

"Except——" said the young one.

The king looked at her, and she was silent. But just at that moment came a voice from the other side of the old fence, that fairly startled every hen in King Albus's household. Shrill, defiant, terrible!

"Cock-a-doodle—roaro—ro—o!" went the voice.

"That is he!" cried the king. "That is more of his audacity! It is unbearable. I will stand it no longer. I will instantly give him battle. Farewell, and if for ever—still for ever, fare-ye-well."

"Stay with us, stay with us, stay—stay—stay," cried all the hens in cackling chorus.

"Never," cried the king; "while Crève cur lives! Cock-a-doodle—do! Death or victory!"

He sprang over the fence as he spoke.

"the king had crossed the rubicon.

SITUATION SECOND.

The king had crossed the Rubicon. There was no going back with honour now. He was fairly over the fence, and in the domains of the rival king.

King Albus bent his wattles to the ground, and gazed at his rival with one eye. His rival's back was turned towards him, and he took not the slightest notice of the king.

"I wonder if he'll fight!" said the king to himself. "For my part I hope he won't, for I don't feel half so full of courage on this side of the fence as I did on the other. I daren't go back, though. How the young hens would giggle if I did, and how the old ones would cackle! No!"

All this time King Albus never moved; he still held his wattles close to the ground, and still looked at his rival with one eye, only sometimes he turned his head and looked with the other.

"He is pretending not to see me," he continued.

"He is afraid. I'll wager my wattles he's afraid. But—what?—do my eyes deceive me? No, he really has two lovely pure—white hens lying beside him. That seals his fate. If any one in the world ought to have white hens as companions, it is myself, because I am pure white. So he must die."

Now, although King Crèvecœur's back was turned to his rival, he could see him with the side of his eye, and besides, his two hens told him what the silly old Spaniard was doing.

"He's afraid to come on, I think," said one.

"Don't be too hard on him," said the other.

"A deal depends," replied Crèvecœur, shaking his head. "I have never insulted him; I can't help being bigger and handsomer and richer than he is; he has no right to go on envying me as he does. He deserves to be punished. He is mean, that is what he is. Stop, I'll give him a little encouragement—Cock-a-doodle-do-o!"

"It needed but that," cried King Albus.

He advanced speedily as he spoke, along by the side of the mill lead.

"Run away, my dears," said the Crève to his two hens, "the battle is about to commence."

One hen went; the other declared she would stand by him as long as she lived.

Now, it was a very remarkable thing, but no sooner had King Albus got close up behind King Crève, and was just about to strike the blow, that might or might not have both begun and ended the fight, than all his courage at once oozed out at his toes, and he really didn't feel he had pluck enough to raise his foot to strike, or even to keep his tail erect.

"I feel very faint," he said to himself, "I think I'll just take a run home and have a few crumbs of food, and then come back again."

He turned as he spoke and began to move off.

"Cock-a-doodle-do-o-o!" roared the cock with the plumes.

he began to move off. ([p. 277]).

SITUATION THIRD.

Now, this was more than the meanest-spirited cock that ever crowed could stand.

He raised his tail again, wheeled suddenly round and faced his foe. The other cock or king also wheeled round, and so with ruffles raised and wings half spread, and with fire flashing from their eyes, the two confronted each other.

But courage now deserted the heart of the white hen, and she fled.

"Cray—cray—cray," she screamed; "there'll be bloodshed, cray—cray—cray!"

"Have you made your will?" cried the white king, fiercely. "Are you prepared for a watery grave?"

"As to my will," replied the dark king, "there'll be plenty of time to think about that when you're dead. As to the watery grave, I'm quite ready for it, as soon as I meet any one who has the strength and courage to send me there. It won't be you."

"You may imagine yourself dead already," roared the white king. "Your body will go floating down the mill-stream, and there won't be a feather of you left together an hour after this—the frogs and fish will eat you."

"come on and fight if you dare."

"Fish and frogs!" cried King Crève, "fiddlesticks! Come on and fight if you dare. I'll give you leave to strike the first blow."

Then the white cock grew very sentimental.

"I don't really want to kill you," he said; "it seems a pity."

"Can nought but blood our feud atone, Are there no means?" "No, stranger, none!"

"Now just look here," said the dark king. "What are you talking about? If you mean to fight—fight. If you don't mean to fight—go over the fence again."

"But I want to have something to say to you," cried King Albus.

"Well then, out with it. I'm not going to stand here palavering all day, with my feathers up like a ruffed grouse. I'm catching cold, I am. I'll go to work to warm myself presently, and it will be a bad thing for you when I do."

"What d'ye mean by being bigger than me, then?" said the white cock.

"Oh! that's your grievance, is it?"

"Yes, and what d'ye mean by crowing louder every morning, and wearing that silly old plume on top o' your poll, and those stupid long spurs on your heels, eh?"

"Anything else?"

"Ye-s—What d'ye mean by having more oats to eat than me? And more hens to walk about and sing to ye, eh?"

"Oh! You envious silly old thing, you," cried King Crève. "Go home at once, and learn to live a better life, do."

"Not till I've killed King Cur."

SITUATION FOURTH AND LAST.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

They were at it now spur and bill. The sound of the blows went echoing all over the farmyards where they lived. Whack! Whack! Whack! Dear me, how the feathers flew!

"My brave!" cried the fat old hen, "I never thought there was so much courage in him before!"

"Wait a bit," cried the saucy young one. "Plumes will give him a lesson presently."

"Plumes won't," shrieked the other.

"Plumes will" roared the young one. And lo! and behold those two hens got fighting behind the fence—so foolish of them—and thus there were two battles raging at one and the same time.

Now sometimes, right is might, but in this case right and might were both on the same side. For King Albus had no business to be so envious and jealous of his neighbour, simply because he was better than he; and he was certainly very wrong to invade his territory. If he had only stayed at home, and been content with his own surroundings, he might have lived and been happy for many a long day.

To do the white king justice, however, he fought well. Though a coward at heart, now that he found himself really engaged, he knew that to give in would mean being trodden to death under the feet of his foe. So he fought on and on.

Both shortly paused for breath, and the white king began turning over the gravel with his bill, as if looking for a grub or two. This was merely a pretence, in order to gain time, and the dark king knew that well enough.

"Don't be silly," he said, tantalisingly, "grubs don't grow in the gravel. I don't believe you could swallow a grub if you had one. Go home now, and come back again when your poor old head is healed."

"I'll heal you!" roared King Albus, "I'll grub you!"

Then the battle re-commenced with re-doubled fury.

But it did not last much longer. The dark king watched his chance, and bringing all his strength to bear on one blow, sent his adversary sprawling and roaring for mercy right into the mill-stream.

"roaring for mercy."

Then he jumped nimbly on top of him and crowed.

His weight sank his foe, he gave a gasp or two, then away he floated still and quiet enough, while the dark king jumped on shore, and coolly began to re-arrange his ruffled plumage, his two hens soon returning to admire him.

"I told you," cried the young hen, "that Plumes would kill him."

"Ah! well," said the fat old hen, "such things will happen, you know. It can't be helped. It's a pity, of course. But he was always rather haughty and overbearing, and envious too; and if there is one feeling more distasteful to me than another it is Envy."

Arion

LITTLE MARGARET'S KITCHEN, AND WHAT SHE DID IN IT.—XI.

By Phillis Browne, Author of "A Year's Cookery," "What Girls can Do," &c.

"H
ow clear and bright the fire is, Mary," said Margaret, when she came into the kitchen, and found Mary already busy setting plates and dishes to warm, rubbing the gridiron, and placing everything in readiness for the lesson in Cookery.

"Yes, Miss Margaret, it is bright, and I made it so," said Mary, with pride in her voice. "Mistress said we were to learn to broil to-day, so I came here in good time, cleared away the dust, put on some coal, and swept up the hearth; and now how hot and clear the fire is; exactly the fire for broiling, I know."

"You seem to know all about it before you are taught, Mary."

"I am not so clever as that comes to, miss. But I know that for broiling you need a bright hot fire without blaze, and that you need to have everything quite ready before you begin to cook at all, because when you have once made a start you cannot leave the broil to attend to anything; so I thought it was as well to be prepared before-hand."

"Why are you rubbing the gridiron so hard then? Was it not cleaned the last time it was used?"

"Of course it was cleaned; but aunt says that no matter how clean a gridiron looks, we should always give it an extra rub before using it, 'for safety,' and that then we should make it hot over the fire, and afterwards rub the bars with mutton-fat to grease them, and keep the meat from sticking to the bars. But here comes mistress."

"You appear to be cooking without my help to-day," said Mrs. Herbert, smiling, as she looked round and saw what had been done.

"No, ma'am. I have finished all I know," said Mary.

"Then let me tell you a little more. Broiling is a very convenient way of cooking meat, because it is very quick, and it makes meat very tasty and very wholesome. I should like you to understand it, therefore. It is only suitable, however, for small things, such as chops, and steaks, and kidneys, and fish. To-day we will broil a steak."

"The gridiron is greased ready, ma'am," interrupted Mary.

"Quite right. I am glad to see it, Mary. This should always be done. But now notice. This steak, though I call it small, is still cut fairly thick—it is nearly an inch thick. If it were cut in a thin slice, to broil it would make it hard and dry, and we wish it to be brown and well cooked on the outside, and tender and juicy inside. I wonder if you recollect what I said when we first began these lessons in Cookery about making a case on the outside of the meat to keep the goodness inside?"

"I recollect it quite well," said Mary.

"So do I," said Margaret. "We put the leg of mutton into boiling water for five minutes to cook the albumen on the outside of the meat, which is like white of egg, to form a sort of case; and when the case was formed we drew the meat back and let it simmer till it was gently cooked all through."

"Excellent, Margaret. I think my small pupils do me great credit. As in boiling meat we put the meat into boiling water, to harden the albumen, so in broiling meat we put the meat near a fierce heat to harden the albumen; and we turn the meat quickly so that the albumen may be hardened on one side as well as the other. Now you know what we have to do. Shall we begin?"

"Yes, please," answered the little girls, both together.

"You are quite ready? Because when once we have begun to broil we must not try to attend to anything else till we have finished."

"We are quite ready," replied the children.

"Then, Mary, as you have done so much in preparing for us, you begin. Put the steak on the hot greased gridiron—never mind the flare which comes almost at once; it will not hurt us at this stage. If later it gets unmanageable we will sprinkle a little salt on the fire, and that will keep it down.

"May I turn it, mother?" said Margaret.

"Yes, dear. Stop, stop, though; what are you about, child? Surely you are not going to put a fork into the lean part of the steak."

"I was, though, mother. How shall I take hold of it if I do not?"

"With the steak-tongs. Or if they are not at hand, use a spoon and the flat side of a knife. But on no account stick a fork into the lean. We are taking ever so much care to keep the juices in, and if you stick a fork in you let them out most abundantly. It would not be so mischievous to stick the fork into the fat, but to stick it into the lean! Oh, Margaret!"

"I am very sorry, mother, I will never do it again."

"Never do it, dear, no matter how you are cooking the meat, that is, of course, unless you wish to get the goodness out; that will alter the state of the case altogether."

"Is it time to turn the steak again, mother?"

"Yes, dear. Turn it quickly, because by so doing you make both sides brown, and that keeps in the juice. It is very curious how people who are clever in Cookery differ about whether or not meat which is being broiled should be turned. I say most decidedly, turn it frequently. First make one side brown as quickly as you can, then the other, and after that turn it every two minutes."

"You have to keep on watching it, though," said Margaret.

"Of course you have. I told you so at the beginning."

"It begins to smell very deliciously," said Mary.

"So it does, Mary. I think broiling is one of the most perfect ways of cooking, though it is so simple and easily managed, and so quick also."

"Is it quick, mother? How long does it take? A quarter of an hour to the pound?"

"No, dear, you cannot count the time in that way, it is not safe. You must learn to know by the look and the touch of the meat whether it is done or not. This steak takes about twelve minutes you will find, but then Mary had taken care to have the fire clear and fierce, and the steak was cut evenly. Press the meat with the flat blade of a knife to find whether it is done. You will, after trying once or twice, know how it feels when it is sufficiently cooked. It should be nearly black outside and the inside should be red all the way through. There should not be a blue line of raw meat in the middle—that is quite wrong.

"I don't like red underdone meat," said Margaret. "I cannot eat it."

"A broiled steak is not red because it is under-dressed; it is red because it is full of gravy. Now our steak is done, I think. Press it with the knife that you may know how it feels."

The little girls pressed it, and looked very wise.

"The plates have been warming for such a long time, that I cannot take hold of them," said Mary.

"That is as they should be. They ought to be very hot indeed for a broil."

"Mother, how many more lessons in Cookery have we?"

"Only one, dear. Your holidays are almost over."

"May we choose what we will make next time, mother?"

"I am rather afraid to promise for fear you should choose something unlikely—a wedding-cake for instance."

"We were going to choose a wedding-cake, mother."

"I would rather you dismissed it from your thoughts, my little daughter. A wedding-cake costs a good deal to begin with; it is not particularly wholesome food. I could not let you eat more than an inch or two, for fear you should be ill. Think of something else."

"Very well, mother. We will think it thoroughly over; and if we choose something reasonable, and not unwholesome, may we make what we wish, just to finish up well?"

"Yes, that I will readily agree to," said Mrs. Herbert, and the children went away contented.