responded, sadly.

"You don't mean--?"

"Oh, I've had a terrible year with fowls," said the dejected poultry
keeper. "Those Plymouth Rocks came just before the Cunjee show, and Dad
entered them for me, 'cause the dealer had told him they would beat
anything there. And I think they would have--only just after he sold Dad
mine, a Cunjee man bought a pair for five guineas. He showed his, too!"
Norah sighed.

"Oh!" said Wally.

"So I got second. However, they were very lovely, and so tame. I was
truly fond of Peter."

"Why Peter?"

"Oh, Peter means a Rock," said Norah. "I heard it in a sermon. He was a
beautiful bird. I think he was too beautiful to live, 'cause he became
ill--I don't know what it was, but he pined away. I used to nurse him
ever so; for the last two days of his poor young life I fed him every
hour with brandy and strong soup out of the spout of the invalid
feeder. Brownie was quite annoyed when she found I'd used it for him,"
said Norah, reflectively.

"But he was an invalid, wasn't he?" asked Wally.

"Of course he was--and it's an invalid feeder. I don't see what it's
for, if not for the sick. But it didn't do him any good. I went out
about ten o'clock one night and wrapped him in hot flannel, and he was
rattling inside his poor chest; and in the morning I went out at five
and he was dead!"

"Poor old Nor.!"

"So I tied a bit of black stuff on the gate and went back to bed," said
Norah, pensively.

Wally grinned. "And what became of Mrs. Peter?"

"Oh, Mrs. Peter was a lovely hen," Norah said, "and very healthy. She
never seemed to feel any of Peter's delicacy. He was a very refined
bird. There was another show coming on at Mulgoa, and I found among the
other fowls another Mr. Peter, and it struck me I would have a try for
the prize. Mrs. Peter was so good that I felt I'd get it unless the
five-guinea Plymouth Rock man came up. So I fed up the new Peter and
had them looking very well the day before the show. And then--"

"Yes?" said Wally, as she paused.

"Then a new dog of Burton's killed Mrs. Peter," said Norah, "so I gave
up showing poultry!"

"I should think you did," said the sympathetic auditor. "What did your
father say?"

"He was very nice; and very angry with the dog; but he didn't buy me
any more valuable fowls--and I expect that was just as well," said
Norah, laughing. "I don't seem to have luck when it comes to keeping
poultry. Jim says it's management, but then Jim never