The lady went over to the roosts and looked carefully at them, then she examined the boards of the sides and roof of the house, then she looked at the nests. Finally she gathered her dress closely about her and stepped forth.
“The place is alive with ’em!” declared she, once outdoors.
“Alive with what?” chorused the waiting hostesses.
“Why, with chicken-lice. Those hens won’t lay while they are being eaten up with the pests.”
“Chicken-lice! Horrors, what are they like?” came from the girls, but Mrs. James stood dumbfounded as she began to understand. Then she exclaimed:
“Janet, it isn’t poison ivy that’s bothering you but the chicken-pest!”
It was fully five minutes before the excitement quieted down again, and Janet was told how easy a matter it was to rid oneself of the nuisance. But Janet argued over Mrs. Tompkins’ statement that chickens would not lay if they were too badly troubled with the lice. She held up the eggs as evidence of what she said.
Then Mrs. Tompkins said sarcastically: “That Ames man had no right to take you innocent girls in like he did. He must have known that ancient old bird of his was no kind of a rooster to sell. And them hens—well I know them to be six years old. They can’t lay eggs any more, they’re too old.”
“Then I’ve got freak hens, for they lay every day!” persisted Janet.
Mrs. Tompkins was driven to speak outright now, so she said: “Are you sure the eggs do not come from the house?”