"Yes. I had more the first of the season, but the folks up at the house have the habit of coming through that door in the barn yonder when the minister comes to dinner and carrying off any member of my family which strikes their fancy. I don't know what they do with them, I am sure, but presently I hear a dreadful squawk or two in the woodshed, a flouncing around, and then all is still. It is very painful, I assure you," and Mr. Rooster, lifting one foot, pretended to wipe a tear from his sharp, dry eyes. "You defend them, of course," I responded, endeavoring to appear solemn. "Of course," swaggered the husband and father, "and sometimes I crow as loud as I can for an hour or so afterward." "Crow?" "Yes, to let the folks know _I'm_ not conquered." "Haven't you," I asked, to hide my mirth, "a preference for some of your wives over others?" Mr. Rooster gravely surveyed his household. "No," he said reflectively, "no, I can't say that I have." "But that white one," I said, "over yonder. She is so handsome." "Maud, that white and silver Wyandotte, you mean. H'm, yes. She's _too_ handsome. I have a great deal of trouble with her." "Trouble--how?" "Oh, in various ways," with a frown. "She is too pretty to work, she thinks, and spends half her time in preening her feathers, polishing her toe nails, or, what's worse, staring through the fence over yonder at that proud, long-legged Mr. Shanghai. He's a foreign bird, you know, and thinks himself a deal better than a common American Plymouth Rock. There's going to be trouble between us yet, mark my words." "You have no trouble, I suppose with the older ones," I returned, suppressing a smile. "No, not in that way, ma'am. They quarrel a good deal about their children, however. Sukey--that brown and white Leghorn over there--thinks her children are veritable little angels with wings, and Georgiana--an out-and-out Plymouth Rock like myself--says they are little demons, her own brood being the little angels, you perceive. Twenty times a day I have to chastise the whole lot, mothers and all. Indeed," with a sigh, "I have a notion to turn them all out some day, just to have peace. All, except Jennie, the black Langshan. She's old to be sure, but a great comfort to me." "Of course, of course," sneered a voice behind him. "Precious little spunk has Jennie, scratching around from morning till night that she may turn up a bug or worm for a lazy old curmudgeon like you. So you intend to turn me out on the cold, cold world some day, do you? Hm! we'll see about that." "That's Jane," grinned Mr. Rooster, without turning around, "I hope they will choose her the next time they want one of my household, I really do." "Oh, yes," sneered Jane, "you'll run away and squawk as you always do, and leave me to my fate." "Run away," screamed Mr. Rooster making a dash for her, "I run away!"