awn, wet with dew, sparkledin the sun. A thrush, who knew all about early birds and theirperquisites, was filling in the time before the arrival of the wormwith a song or two

through the trees turne

ing anabsurdly long tail. The hatchet was definitely burie

le town. I passed through the narrow street, andturned on to the beach, walking in the d

y bed, I dived into twelve feet of clear, coldwater. As I swam, I compared it with the mor

here would be some strenuous moments before that farm became aprofitable commercial speculation. At the thought of Ukridge toilingon a hot afternoo

llar, assailing a large ham. Mrs. Ukridge, looking younger and more

ellowed Ukridge, "where

morning.""The fowls have arrived, Mr. Garnet," said Mrs. Ukridge, opening

t there floated in through the window acackling which

nd had been drained offowls and the entire trib

to have been no

t we want. No good starting on a small scale. The more youhave, the bigger the p

chum,' I said kindly but firmly to themanager johnny--decent old buck, with the manners of a marquess,--'look here,' I said, 'life is short, and we're neither of us as youngas we used to be. Don't let us waste the golden hours playing guessinggames. I want fowls. You sell fowls. So give me some of all sorts. Mix'em up, laddie,' I said, 'mix 'em up.' And he has, by jove. You gointo the yard and look at 'em. Beale has turned them out of theircrates. There must be one of every breed ever invented.""Where are you going to put them?""That spot we chose by the paddock. That's the place. Plenty of mudfor them to scratch about in, and they ca

ard. Wait till they see the A1compact residential mansions we're going to put up for them. Finishedbreakfast? Then let's go out. Come along, Millie."The red-headed Beale, discovered leaning in an attitude of thought onthe yard gate and ob

arquess seemed to have been at greatpains to send a really representative selection of fowls. There wereblue ones, black ones

e I, assisted by Beale, draped the wire-netting about the chosen spot next to the paddock. There were littleunpleasantnesses--once a roar of anguish told that Ukridge's hammerhad found the wrong billet, and on another oc

ezover a long glass. "That is the stuff to administer to 'em! At th

hat do you think of those forcoops, Beal

, sir."He continue

's passion for the truth had made

wire. You'll have them strangling themselves."In spite of earnest labour the housing arrangements of the fowls werestill in an incomple

e fora stroll on the beach. Wants some exercise, I suppose. Personally, Ifeel as if I should never move again. You have no conception of thedifficulty of rounding up fowls and getting them safely to bed. Havingno proper place to put them, we were obliged to stow some o

for one night, and if I did a st

singly and carry it to bed. It would have takensome time, but there would have been no confus

es to be on a large, da

rmation through the backdoor into the basement.' It was a great idea, but there was one fatalflaw in it. It didn't

was onein particular, a large yellow bird, which, I should imagine, isnearing London by this time. The last I saw of it, it was navigatingat the rate of knots in that direction, with Bob after it, barking hishardest. The fowl was showing a rare turn of speed and gainingrapidly. Presently Bob came back, panting, having evidently given theth

door. We chased the h

nit. We also arranged Ukridge's sugar-box coops in a row, and when we

ans we gathered in abou

few may be still in Dorsetshire,

her interesting events. I believe if Ukridge keptwhite mice he would manage to get feverish excitement out of it. He isat present lying on the sofa, smoking one

n hear faintly the murmu