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“Now the old hen’s talking again. ‘Fowls of quality can’t be too careful nowadays. These plebeian climbers are everywhere.’”

The haughty Plymouth Rock settled herself and preened her feathers with the conscious air of duty well performed, while the little woman laughed gaily.

“Now she feels that she has maintained all the traditions of her class. Oh, yes, they have classes in the chicken yard just as in the American nation. I was thinking of getting a good likeness of that hen and sending it to the Chicago American so’s they could print her picture on the society page.

“You know, I find lots of interesting characters out here. There’s a hog over yonder. He’s stuffed so full he can’t swallow another mouthful, yet he keeps wallowing over the food so the shoats can’t get any, and they stand back and first one tries to get a bite and then another, when if they’d all rush him at once they’d get aplenty. When he grunts like that he’s telling them to be contented and industrious little pigs and that if they just start rooting early every morning, after a while they’ll be eminent and respected like he is and able to wallow in the feed trough.