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told me all the particulars。 Yesterday morning I was sitting by my
open window。 It was warm； sunny； and still； but in the country
sounds travel far； and I could hear fowl conversation in various
parts of the poultry…yard as well as in all the outlying bits of
territory occupied by our feathered friends。 Hens have only three
words and a scream in their language； but ducks； having more
thoughts to express； converse quite fluently； so fluently； in fact；
that it reminds me of dinner at the Hydropathic Hotel。 I fancy I
have learned to distinguish seven separate sounds； each varied by
degrees of intensity； and with upward or downward inflections like
the Chinese tongue。
In the distance； then； I heard the faint voice of a duck calling as
if breathless and excited。 While I wondered what was happening； I
saw Miss Crippletoes struggling up the steep bank above the duck…
pond。 It was the quickest way from the water to the house； but
difficult for the little lame webbed feet。 When she reached the
level grass sward she sank down a moment； exhausted； but when she
could speak again she cried out； a sharp staccato call； and ran
forward。
Instantly she was answered from a distant knoll； where for some
reason Sir Muscovy loved to retire for meditation。 The cries grew
lower and softer as the birds approached each other； and they met
at the corner just under my window。 Instantly they put their two
bills together and the loud cries changed to confiding murmurs。
Evidently some hurried questions and answers passed between them；
and then Sir Muscovy waddled rapidly by the quickest path； Miss
Crippletoes following him at a slower pace； and both passed out of
sight； using their wings to help their feet down the steep
declivity。 The next morning； when I wakened early； my first
thought was to look out； and there on the sunny greensward where
they were accustomed to be fed； Sir Muscovy； Lady Blanche； and
their humble maid； Malardina Crippletoes； were scattering their own
breakfast before the bills of twelve beautiful golden balls of
ducklings。 The little creatures could never have climbed the bank；
but must have started from their nest at dawn； coming round by the
brook to the level at the foot of the garden； and so by slow
degrees up to the house。
Judging from what I heard and knew of their habits； I am sure the
excitement of the previous morning was occasioned by the hatching
of the eggs； and that Lady Blanche had hastily sent her friend to
call Sir Muscovy； the family remaining together until they could
bring the babies with them and display their beauty to Phoebe and
me。
CHAPTER X
July 14th。
We are not wholly without the pleasures of the town in Barbury
Green。 Once or twice in a summer； late on a Saturday afternoon； a
procession of red and yellow vans drives into a field near the
centre of the village。 By the time the vans are unpacked all the
children in the community are surrounding the gate of entrance。
There is rifle…shooting； there is fortune…telling； there are games
of pitch and toss； and swings； and French bagatelle； and； to crown
all； a wonderful orchestrion that goes by steam。 The water is
boiled for the public's tea； and at the same time thrilling strains
of melody are flung into the air。 There is at present only one
tune in the orchestrion's repertory； but it is a very good tune；
though after hearing it three hundred and seven times in a single
afternoon； it pursues one； sleeping and waking； for the next week。
Phoebe and I took the Square Baby and went in to this diversified
entertainment。 There was a small crowd of children at the
entrance； but as none of them seemed to be provided with pennies；
and I felt in a fairy godmother mood； I offered them the freedom of
the place at my expense。
I never purchased more radiant good…will for less money； but the
combined effect of the well…boiled tea and the boiling orchestrion
produced many village nightmares； so the mothers told me at chapel
next morning。
* * *
I have many friends in Barbury Green； and often have a pleasant
chat with the draper； and the watch…maker； and the chemist。
The last house on the principal street is rather an ugly one； with
especially nice window curtains。 As I was taking my daily walk to
the post…office （an entirely unfruitful expedition thus far； as
nobody has taken the pains to write to me） I saw a nursemaid coming
out of the gate； wheeling a baby in a perambulator。 She was going
placidly away from the Green when； far in the distance； she espied
a man walking rapidly toward us； a heavy Gladstone bag in one hand。
She gazed fixedly for a moment； her eyes brightening and her cheeks
flushing with pleasure；whoever it was； it was an unexpected
arrival；then she retraced her steps and； running up the garden…
path； opened the front door and held an excited colloquy with
somebody； a slender somebody in a nice print gown and neatly…
dressed hair； who came to the gate and peeped beyond the hedge
several times； drawing back between peeps with smiles and
heightened colour。 She did not run down the road； even when she
had satisfied herself of the identity of the traveller； perhaps
that would not have been good form in an English village； for there
were houses on the opposite side of the way。 She waited until he
opened the gate； the nursemaid took the bag and looked discreetly
into the hedge； then the mistress slipped her hand through the
traveller's arm and walked up the path as if she had nothing else
in the world to wish for。 The nurse had a part in the joy； for she
lifted the baby out of the perambulator and showed proudly how much
he had grown。
It was a dear little scene； and I； a passer…by； had shared in it
and felt better for it。 I think their content was no less because
part of it had enriched my life； for happiness； like mercy； is
twice blessed； it blesses those who are most intimately associated
in it； and it blesses all those who see it； hear it； feel it； touch
it； or breathe the same atmosphere。 A laughing； crowing baby in a
house； one cheerful woman singing about her work； a boy whistling
at the plough； a romance just suspected； with its miracle of two
hearts melting into onethe wind's always in the west when you
have any of these wonder…workers in your neighbourhood。
I have talks too； sometimes； with the old parson； who lives in a
quaint house with 〃Parva Domus Magna Quies〃 cut into the stone over
the doorway。 He is not a preaching parson； but a retired one；
almost the nicest kind； I often think。
He has been married thirty years； he tells me； thirty years； spent
in the one little house with the bricks painted red and grey
alternately； and the scarlet holly…hocks growing under the windows。
I am sure they have been sweet； true； kind years； and that his
heart must be a quiet； peaceful place just like his house and
garden。
〃I was only eleven years old when I fell in love with my wife；〃 he
told me as we sat on the seat under the lime…tree； he puffing
cosily at his pipe； I plaiting grasses for a hatband。
〃It was just before Sunday…school。 Her mother had dressed her all
in white muslin like a fairy； but she