Finally the man got his two dollars and went away, and Mary, Della and I went back to the hammocks.
Serena was very much interested in my account of the guinea-hens. She wasn't going out much those days. She kept indoors, except at night when she took a little walk all about the barn. This particular evening she stole up to the hen-house to see the guinea-hens, and when the time came for them to be let out, as they had become “wonted” to the place, she used to lie under a clump of rose-bushes and watch them. Their actions interested her very much. They trotted all round the house, the barn, and the carriage-house, only stopping occasionally to eat.
“They're humbugs,” said Serena. “I've seen a swift hawk take two chickens to-day, when the guinea-hens were only a few feet away from him. They never opened their beaks, and he wasn't a bit afraid of them. There he is coming back.”
“Meow, meow,” I said loudly, and I ran toward Mary who had thrown herself on the grass at the side of the house, and was reading a book.
She looked up. The bird soaring overhead appeared in the distance like one of Della's blue homing pigeons that nested in the loft of the carriage-house. When it came near, we saw it was larger than a pigeon. Like a bullet it dropped over an unsuspecting mother hen, seized one of her baby chickens, and bore the dear little thing up in the air with its legs dangling helplessly.
Mary burst into tears, and tried to find Della.
“I hate those guinea-hens,” said Serena contemptuously. “You just lie down here beside me, sister, and watch. You have seen one of their sins of omission, now find out one of commission.”
I didn't know what she meant, but I crouched down beside her. She was much nicer to me since the downfall of her pride, and I really enjoyed being with her.
“Now,” she went on, “keep your eyes on the smaller of those old maids.”
I always laughed when she called the guinea-hens the old maids, for with their little, prim ways, and gray tippet-like feathers, they certainly did look like bachelor hen girls.