"Couldn't do anything. I chased the beasts out of the yard, and threw
everything I could find at them--but you can't hurt a pig. And Dad was
horrid--advised me to have them killed, so that at least we could have
eggs and bacon!" Norah laughed, in spite of her woebegone tone.
"And he calls himself a father!" said Wally, solemnly.
"Oh, he wasn't really horrid," Norah answered. "He wrote off to town
and bought me a very swagger pair of Plymouth Rocks--just beauties. They
cost three guineas!"
"Three guineas!" said the awestruck youth. "What awful waste! Where are
they, Norah? Show me them at once!"
"Can't," Norah responded, sadly.
"You don't mean--?"
"Oh, I've had a terrible year with fowls," said the dejected poultry
keeper. "Those Plymouth Rocks came just before the Cunjee show, and Dad
entered them for me, 'cause the dealer had told him they would beat
anything there. And I think they would have--only just after he sold Dad
mine, a Cunjee man bought a pair for five guineas. He showed his, too!"
Norah sighed.
"Oh!" said Wally.
"So I got second. However, they were very lovely, and so tame. I was
truly fond of Peter."
"Why Peter?"
"Oh, Peter means a Rock," said Norah. "I heard it in a sermon. He was a
beautiful bird. I think he was too beautiful to live, 'cause he became
ill--I don't know what it was, but he pined away.
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