"Got me," she said cheerfully. "But it don't hurt. See, Missus—I just slip me hand under her, but I don't let go her neck. Then she travels nice an' easy, but she can't use her old beak. Come an' we'll put her on the aigs."
Snarling and struggling, the hen was gently deposited upon the nest, and the door secured. 'Possum covered the box with an old sack.
"There:—she'll get quiet enough when she can't see. Some people swears by settin' 'em at night, but it don't matter when they're as setty as these fellers. Like to try your hand with the next one, Missus?"
Aileen did her best. She plunged her hand at the second hen, but missed it, thanks to warlike action on its part; and the hen arose, bestowing a hearty peck on her glove as it passed, and fled into the open, uttering loud squawks. 'Possum grabbed the third as it was about to follow.
"The hen arose, and fled into the open, uttering loud squawks."
"That's the worst of catchin' 'em in daylight," she remarked. "They see too much of what you're after. Well, we'll have to leave her, Missus. She'll go back after awhile. D'you think you could get her to-night?"
"Yes, if it takes me all night!" said 'Aileen sturdily. Her attempt had failed, but it had taught her that the task held no especial terrors. "My husband will help me."
"Oh, you'll be all right," said 'Possum, securing her captive, and draping a sack over her wrathful protests. "Sit on them aigs, now, you silly old cuckoo, an' get busy! Well, that's that. Now, about buyin' them fowls?"
They discussed ways and means, and 'Possum made brief notes on the back of an old envelope—a laborious task.