CHAPTER XI.
{A Hen Conference: p79.jpg} July 16th.
Phoebe and I have been to a Hen Conference at Buffington.

It was for the purpose of raising the standard of the British Hen, and our local Countess, who is much interested in poultry, was in the chair.
It was a very learned body, but Phoebe had coached me so well that at the noon recess I could talk confidently with the members, discussing the various advantages of True and Crossed Minorcas, Feverels, Andalusians, Cochin Chinas, Shanghais, and the White Leghorn.

(Phoebe, when she pronounces this word, leaves out the "h" and bears down heavily on the last syllable, so that it rhymes with begone!) As I was sitting under the trees waiting for Phoebe to finish some shopping in the village, a travelling poultry-dealer came along and offered to sell me a silver Wyandotte pullet and cockerel.

This was a new breed to me and I asked the price, which proved to be more than I should pay for a hat in Bond Street.

I hesitated, thinking meantime what a delightful parting gift they would be for Phoebe; I mean if we ever should part, which seems more and more unlikely, as I shall never leave Thornycroft until somebody comes properly to fetch me; indeed, unless the "fetching" is done somewhat speedily I may decline to go under any circumstances.