Only the other day, in the farmyard, Bellwattle saw two cocks fighting—fighting for the supremacy of the yard. Cruikshank and I looked on, really enjoying the sport of it in our hearts, yet deadly afraid of saying so.
“Can’t you stop them?” exclaimed Bellwattle. “They’re hurting each other!”
We neither of us moved a hand.
“If you don’t, I shall have to go and do it myself,” said she.
“Much better leave it to God,” said I. “They’re settling matters that have nothing to do with you.”
But do you think logic so profound as that deterred her? Not a bit of it! Out she ran into the farmyard, throwing her arms about in the air—as women will when they wish to interfere with the laws of God.
“Shoo! shoo! shoo!” shouted Bellwattle.
And one of the cocks, at the critical moment of victory, reluctantly leaving go of its opponent’s comb, looked up with considerable annoyance into her face and shrieked back—
“Cock-a-doodle-do!”