Whack! Whack! Whack!
They were at it now spur and bill. The sound of the blows went echoing all over the farmyards where they lived. Whack! Whack! Whack! Dear me, how the feathers flew!
"My brave!" cried the fat old hen, "I never thought there was so much courage in him before!"
"Wait a bit," cried the saucy young one. "Plumes will give him a lesson presently."
"Plumes won't," shrieked the other.
"Plumes will" roared the young one. And lo! and behold those two hens got fighting behind the fence—so foolish of them—and thus there were two battles raging at one and the same time.
Now sometimes, right is might, but in this case right and might were both on the same side. For King Albus had no business to be so envious and jealous of his neighbour, simply because he was better than he; and he was certainly very wrong to invade his territory. If he had only stayed at home, and been content with his own surroundings, he might have lived and been happy for many a long day.
To do the white king justice, however, he fought well. Though a coward at heart, now that he found himself really engaged, he knew that to give in would mean being trodden to death under the feet of his foe. So he fought on and on.
Both shortly paused for breath, and the white king began turning over the gravel with his bill, as if looking for a grub or two. This was merely a pretence, in order to gain time, and the dark king knew that well enough.
"Don't be silly," he said, tantalisingly, "grubs don't grow in the gravel. I don't believe you could swallow a grub if you had one. Go home now, and come back again when your poor old head is healed."