The Blackbird
[Touching his brow with his wing.] She is dotty!
The Guinea-hen
[At the back, with shrill Guinea-hen cries.] It’s my last day! How do you do? My last day until August! Mondays in August, don’t forget!
A Hen
[Seeing cherries dropping around her.] Oh, cherries, look!
The Pheasant-hen
[Looking upward.] It is the Breeze!
The Guinea-hen
[Fluttering forward again, excited as ever.] I have the Breeze, who now and then shakes down a cherry! I never ask her. She comes unasked. What’s-his-name is here! And What’s-her-name is here, and—[To the back tumultuously.]
The Blackbird
And Thingumbob, and Stick-in-the-mud! [He has arrived without appearance of design beneath the tree where the Cat is lying, and asks rapidly, under breath.] Cat, what about the conspiracy?
The Cat
[Who from his tree can see beyond the hedge.] It is afoot. I see the interminable file of phenomenal Cocks approaching, headed by the Peacock who comes to present them.
A Cry
[Outside.] Ee—yong! [The Crowd throngs toward the entrance.]
Patou
[Grumbling.] That abominable concertina cry—
The Magpie
The Peacock!