Nan turned quickly. He was not joking. His eyes were deadly serious.
‘Of all things!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re feverish again.’
‘Nothing of the kind. Please answer the question.’
‘Nothing of the kind,’ she mimicked him. ‘Why did you ask such a foolish question?’
‘Most girls do have sweethearts, do they not?’
‘I really don’t know—possibly.’
She laughed and listened intently. From down at the stable came the cackle of a hen, announcing to the world that she had produced an egg. Following this came the hoarse crow of a rooster. Nan laughed and turned to Rex.
‘Cut, cut, cut goes the little brown hen
She cut, cut, cuts a warning,
Then the rooster crows and everybody knows
We’ll have eggs for breakfast in the morning.’
‘Is that what it means?’ laughed Rex.
‘Didn’t you ever hear that before? That was the first poem I ever learned. We have only a dozen hens, and only six are laying; so I better get that egg before a coyote or a bob-cat finds it.’