“THE ROOSTER KEPT SO FAR AHEAD THAT NO ONE BUT OURSELVES SUSPECTED THE MISCHIEF SHE WAS DOING.”
“Just see how one of the little wretches is persecuting that lovely big rooster,” said Serena viciously.
I could not help smiling. “Dear Serena,” I said, “it is impossible that that small hen should worry that huge Wyandotte.”
“You just observe,” she said decidedly, and I did observe. The hen, apparently trotting aimlessly round the back-yard and the wood-house, and the young orchard, was really all the time in pursuit of the Wyandotte. The rooster kept so far ahead that no one but ourselves suspected the mischief she was doing.
“I've watched her for two days,” said Serena, “she just trots after him. It makes him nervous, and he keeps going. Sometimes he gets so exhausted that he lies down. She'll kill him if some one doesn't notice.”
“What makes her do it?” I asked of my wise sister.
“I don't know,” she said in a puzzled voice. “Just mischief, I fancy.”
“Why doesn't he stop and beat her?” I went on. “He could do it in a minute.”
“She has got more brains than he has,” said Serena. “I don't care if her head is small, she is his master.”