HE was a noble looking fowl, that rooster, and challenged my admiration by his unusual proportions, glossy plumage, and proud, exultant air.
As I paused in my walk to view him his sharp eyes were instantly fastened upon mine and a note of warning issued from his handsome throat. Away scampered the hens and young chicks, but the rooster, advancing a pace or two, lifted one foot menacingly, as if to defy my taking one step further.
"Dear, dear!" I exclaimed, "you make a great fuss over nothing. I only stopped to admire you and your family. Be assured I meant you no harm."
"Gluck, gluck, gluck," replied he angrily.
The spectacle of a champion standing on one leg and sending forth such a cry of defiance struck me as so ridiculous that I involuntarily burst into laughter.
Every fowl in the inclosure at the sound stood motionless.
"What was that?" questioned one motherly old hen of another.
It was a queer gibberish which she spoke, and most people would have failed to understand it, but to me—who had been listening to the voices of nature the whole day long, to whom the trees had whispered their secrets, the brooks had murmured their complaints, the birds had caroled their stories—to me the language of these feathered creatures was perfectly intelligible.
"I don't know, I'm sure," replied the other, "but somehow it sounded rather pleasant."