But when the Cook slammed the door to, and left Gardener and his wife alone, they too began to dispute between themselves.
"You make such a fuss over your nasty pigs, and get all the scraps for them," said the wife. "It's of much more importance that I should have everything Cook can spare for my chickens. Never were such fine chickens as my last brood!"
"I thought they were ducklings."
"How you catch me up, you rude old man! They are ducklings, and beauties, too—even though they have never seen water. Where's the pond you promised to make for me, I wonder?"
"Rubbish, woman! If my cows do without a pond, your ducklings may. And why will you be so silly as to rear ducklings at all? Fine fat chickens are a deal better. You'll find out your mistake some day."
"And so will you when that old Alderney runs dry. You'll wish you had taken my advice, and fattened and sold her."
"Alderney cows won't sell for fattening, and women's advice is never worth twopence. Yours isn't worth even a half-penny. What are you laughing at?"
"I wasn't laughing," said the wife, angrily; and, in truth, it was not she, but little Brownie, running under the barrow which the Gardener was wheeling along, and very much amused that people should be so silly as to squabble about nothing.
It was still early morning; for, whatever this old couple's faults might be, laziness was not one of them. The wife rose with the dawn to feed her poultry and collect her eggs; the husband also got through as much work by breakfast-time as many an idle man does by noon. But Brownie had been beforehand with them this day.
When all the fowls came running to be fed, the big Brahma hen who had watched the ducklings was seen wandering forlornly about, and clucking mournfully for her young brood—she could not find them anywhere. Had she been able to speak, she might have told how a large white Aylesbury duck had waddled into the farmyard, and waddled out again, coaxing them after her, no doubt in search of a pond. But missing they were, most certainly.