As I entered the kitchen I found my mother already there; she was engaged in picking lentils and removing the little pebbles which clung to them. “Are you going out fishing?” she asked laughingly. “No, mamma, I was only going—” Then it occurred to me that I had determined I would not tell anybody of my audacious project—that my intended victory over the bantam was to be a profound secret until I was the undoubted conqueror. I bit my tongue and prudently cut the sentence short. As I never told a lie, I did not give a word of explanation. “Put down the fishing-rod,” said my mother without paying any attention to my evident embarrassment; “take off your cap, and come and help me.” I hastened to obey her, and, to tell the truth, I am ashamed to say I felt some satisfaction in putting off for a day or two, the duty, which I had imposed upon myself, of teaching a lesson to that impudent little cock. He, in the meantime, seemed to crow over my infirmity of purpose, for his cock-a-doodle-doo sounded more loudly than ever all over the place. “Ah!” said I to myself, “you will lose nothing by waiting; you would certainly have caught it by this time, I can tell you, if I had not been kept in.” At that moment my mother went out of the kitchen. Instigated by a feeling of curiosity to see what was going on inside the kitchen—or, perhaps, with a baser motive of crowing over me, the little bantam suddenly flew on the ledge outside the kitchen window, and putting his head first on one side, and then the other, looked impertinently through the panes of glass into the kitchen. “Take that!” cried I; and seizing a handful of lentils, I threw them against the window. It sounded like a shower of hail. The bantam gave a hoarse scream of terror, flapped his wings, and disappeared. The rascal, I have not a doubt, paid the chickens off for the fright I caused him, as I heard them uttering piercing cries soon afterwards. I carefully picked up the lentils, and set to work cleaning them again, feeling quite pleased with my exploit. ------------------ XVII. SCIENTIFIC REFLECTIONS ON MY NOSE MADE BY DR. LOMBALOT. “THAT is very nicely done,” said my mother, on her return to the kitchen. “You are a good helpful little boy; and now go and put on your best suit for breakfast, as somebody is coming.” This somebody was Dr. Lombalot, the old surgeon-major of my father’s former regiment. When he retired from the army he settled at Tours. He was to arrive by an early train. “He is a great original,” said my mother, “but your father likes him very much.”