When he knew what had happened he was in as great a taking as herself, and he walked up and down, flapping his wings distractedly and making the most heartrending noises in his throat. “I must go for Alfonso,” he said at last. Alfonso was the gamecock. I can tell you there was a to-do when the birds got at the bottom of the affair! They stood, one on either side of their poor friend, begging her not to cry; and Alfonso was anxious to fight everybody, from the bantam up to the great bubbly-jock who scraped his wings along the ground and turned blue about the neck if you whistled to him. All the fowls knew that something terrible had happened. “But what is the use of your fighting, dear Alfonso?” said Maggie. “It would do me no good, and the poultry are all innocent. They have done me no harm.” “I am not so sure about those sly fat huzzies of ducks. What business have they to look after themselves so badly? I have a good mind to go down and have a few words with the drake.” “No, no—pray don’t,” said Maggie. “The best thing I can do is to go away and be done with it.” The Cochin-Chinaman was weeping hoarsely: he had no dignity. “I never thought to leave my family,” he cried, “but this is the last they’ll see of me. I shall go with you.” Alfonso was rather shocked, for he had very proper ideas. “And leave your wife?” he exclaimed. “She is in love with the Dorking cock, so she can stay with him. I have known it for some time. There he is, standing on one leg by the wood-pile.” “I will come too,” said the game-fowl, who was a bachelor, “but do you go on. I will just go and break every bone in the drake’s body, and I can catch you up before you are out of sight.” “Oh, no! no! Promise you won’t do that!” implored Maggie. It took some time to persuade him to be quiet, but at last it was done. “It is better to get the business over at once,” said the Cochin-China cock. “If Alfonso is ready, we will start.” “And pray, who says I am not ready for anything?” inquired the other. “Anyone who wants to eat his words has only to come to me!” “But nobody says it,” replied Maggie soothingly. “I am sure no one ever had two such dear, brave friends as I have.” And with that the three set forth on their travels. They went up the road that runs north, round the other side of the dam, for they were anxious to get as far as possible without being seen, in case anyone should come after them to try and make the cocks go back. Sometimes they ran, they were in such a hurry. At last they came to where the old gipsy track crosses the way, and turned into it; feeling much safer for the shelter of the whins and bushes in that green place.