Fluffsky, do please to begin again." "These beggars are nothing at all, I can assure you," said Sir Montague, coming to my aid, when Fluffsky spurned all our prayers for one more crow.

"Mrs.Hockin, if you really would like to have a fowl that even Lady Clara Crowcombe has not got, you shall have it in a week, or a fortnight, or, at any rate, a month, if I can manage it.

They are not to be had except through certain channels, and the fellows who write the poultry books have never even heard of them." "Oh, how delighted I shall be! Lady Clara despises all her neighbors so.
But do they lay eggs?
Half the use of keeping poultry, when you never kill them, is to get an egg for breakfast; and Major Hockin looks round and says, 'Now is this our own ?' and I can not say that it is; and I am vexed with the books, and he begins to laugh at me.

People said it was for want of chalk, but they walk upon nothing but chalk, as you can see." "And their food, Mrs.Hockin.They are walking upon that.

Starve them for a week, and forty eggs at least will reward you for stern discipline." But all this little talk I only tell to show how good and soft Mrs.
Hockin was; and her husband, in spite of all his self-opinion, and resolute talk about money and manorial dues, in his way, perhaps, was even less to be trusted to get his cash out of any poor and honest man.
On the very day after my return from London I received a letter from "Colonel Gundry" (as we always called the Sawyer now, through his kinship to the Major), and, as it can not easily be put into less compass, I may as well give his very words: "DEAR MISS REMA,--Your last favor to hand, with thanks.