"Well, well! your country must be a very poor place, young man. Is it possible you don't know that one of these feathers, carefully cultivated, will yield each month a fat, frying-size chicken?"
"If that is so," said Loony John, "sell me two hundred dollars' worth of your largest and finest feathers."
The woman laughed in her sleeve. She had never dreamed that an old hen could bring her so much money. She hastened to close the trade with Loony John, and, to show that she was not at all picayunish, she threw in the two feet of the old hen for good measure.
Loony John went on his way happy. When he reached home he got the hoe, went out into the garden, and began to plant his fine feathers.
"How everybody will admire my fine square of feathers!" he said to himself. "I will call to every passer-by and say, 'Behold the beautiful hen-patch! Has ever such a wonder been seen before?'"
The next week, however, Loony John went all in tears to find the farm-woman.
"Well, well! my good young man!" exclaimed the woman when she saw him, "what do you cry for? Has your house been burnt?"
"That would be but a trifle," replied Loony John.
"Alas! is your mother dead?"