‘Crow again, Trumpet.’ The roof jarred. ‘It does not disturb them, then?’ ‘Didn’t you hear ’em _ask_ for it?’ ‘How is it, that your sick family like this crowing?’ said I. ‘The cock is a glorious cock, with a glorious voice, but not exactly the sort of thing for a sick-chamber, one would suppose. Do they really like it?’ ‘Don’t _you_ like it? Don’t it do _you_ good? Ain’t it inspiring? Don’t it impart pluck? give stuff against despair?’ ‘All true,’ said I, removing my hat with profound humility before the brave spirit disguised in the base coat. ‘But then,’ said I, still with some misgivings, ‘so loud, so wonderfully clamorous a crow, methinks might be amiss to invalids, and retard their convalescence.’ ‘Crow your best now, Trumpet!’ I leaped from my chair. The cock frightened me, like some overpowering angel in the Apocalypse. He seemed crowing over the fall of wicked Babylon, or crowing over the triumph of righteous Joshua in the vale of Askalon. When I regained my composure somewhat, an inquisitive thought occurred to me. I resolved to gratify it. ‘Merrymusk, will you present me to your wife and children?’ ‘Yes. Wife, the gentleman wants to step in.’ ‘He is very welcome,’ replied a weak voice. Going behind the curtain, there lay a wasted, but strangely cheerful human face; and that was pretty much all; the body, hid by the counterpane and an old coat, seemed too shrunken to reveal itself through such impediments. At the bedside sat a pale girl, ministering. In another bed lay three children, side by side: three more pale faces. ‘Oh, father, we don’t mislike the gentleman, but let us see Trumpet too.’ At a word, the cock strode behind the screen, and perched himself on the children’s bed. All their wasted eyes gazed at him with a wild and spiritual delight. They seemed to sun themselves in the radiant plumage of the cock. ‘Better than a ’pothecary, eh?’ said Merrymusk. ‘This is Dr. Cock himself.’ We retired from the sick ones, and I reseated myself again, lost in thought over this strange household. ‘You seem a glorious independent fellow!’ said I. ‘And I don’t think you a fool, and never did. Sir, you are a trump.’ ‘Is there any hope of your wife’s recovery?’ said I, modestly seeking to turn the conversation. ‘Not the least.’ ‘The children?’ ‘Very little.’ ‘It must be a doleful life, then, for all concerned. This lonely solitude--this shanty--hard work--hard times.’ ‘Haven’t I Trumpet? He’s the cheerer. He crows through all; crows at the darkest: Glory to God in the highest! Continually he crows it.’ ‘Just the import I first ascribed to his crow, Merrymusk, when first I heard it from my hill. I thought some rich nabob owned some costly Shanghai; little weening any such poor man as you owned this lusty cock of a domestic breed.’