"Just five," said Harvey, peering towards his customer through the semi-darkness.
"I think I'll buy that there one on the roost," David said after due deliberation; "seems to be the highest-minded of the bunch."
"Can't," said Harvey, "that's Jessie's; it's only got just one eye—that's why Jessie wanted it. Can't sell Jessie's," he concluded firmly.
David agreed. "Haven't you got one called Pinky?" he enquired.
"No," Harvey replied solemnly, "she's dead—we had her a long, long time ago. I can show you her grave outside in the yard."
"Never mind," said Mr. Borland; "this ain't no day for inspectin' graves. I might have known she'd passed away—how long does a hen live, anyhow—a healthy hen?"
"Depends on how they're used," said the boy; "Pinky sneezed to death—too much pepper, I think. Who told you about Pinky, sir?"
"Depends a good deal, too, on how often the preacher comes to dinner, don't it? It was Madeline told me about Pinky—you know my girl, don't you?"
"Yes," and Harvey's face was bright; "I'm awful sorry Pinky's dead—I could sell you one of Pinky's grandchildren's children, Mr. Borland."
"What?" said Mr. Borland, turning a straw about and placing the unchewed end in his mouth, "one of what?"