THE WHITE HEN
[To the TURKEY.] An Admiral, wherefore?

THE BLACKBIRD
Obviously because he is neither a seaman nor a soldier.

THE WHITE HEN
Our Blackbird has a pretty wit!

THE TURKEY [Nodding and swinging his red stalactite.] He has better than wit, my dear!

ANOTHER HEN
[Watching the BUTTERFLY.] It’s sweet—­a butterfly!

THE BLACKBIRD
Easy as possible to make!  You take a W and set it on top of a Y!

A HEN [Delighted.] A flourish of his bill, and there you have your caricature!

THE TURKEY
He does better than execute caricatures!  Hen, our Blackbird forces you
to think while obliging you to laugh.  He is a Teacher in wit’s clothing.

A CHICK
[To a HEN.] Mother, why does the Cat hate the Dog?

THE BLACKBIRD
Because he appropriates his seat at the theatre.

THE CHICK
[Surprised.] They have a theatre?

THE BLACKBIRD
Where dumb-shows are given.

THE CHICK
Eh?

THE BLACKBIRD
The hearthstone from whence both alike wish to watch the play of the
Fire among the Logs.

THE TURKEY [Delighted.] How aptly he conveys that the hatred of peoples is at bottom a question of wanting the other’s territory.  There’s a brain for you!

THE SPECKLED HEN
[To the WHITE HEN, who is pecking.] Do you peck peppers?

THE WHITE HEN
Constantly.

THE SPECKLED HEN
How can you stand the sting?

THE WHITE HEN
It imparts to the feathers a delicate rosy tint.

THE SPECKLED HEN
Oh, does it!

A VOICE IN THE DISTANCE
Cuckoo!

THE WHITE HEN
Listen!

THE VOICE
[From a greater distance.] Cuckoo!

THE WHITE HEN
The Cuckoo!

A GREY HEN [Comes running excitedly.] Which Cuckoo?  The one who lives in the woods, or the one who lives in the clock?

THE VOICE
[Still further off.] Cuckoo!

THE WHITE HEN
The one of the woods.

THE GREY HEN [With a sigh of relief.] Oh, I was so afraid of having missed the other!

THE WHITE HEN [Going near enough to her to speak in an undertone.] Do you mean to say you love him?

THE GREY HEN [Sadly.] Without ever having set eyes on him.  He lives in a chalet hanging on the kitchen wall, above the farmer’s great-coat and fowling-piece.  The moment he sings, I rush to the spot, but I never get there in time to see anything but his little wicket closing.  This evening I mean to stay right here beside the door—­[She takes up her position on the threshold.]

A VOICE
White Hen!

SCENE SECOND

THE SAME, a PIGEON on the roof, later CHANTECLER.

THE WHITE HEN
[Looking about with quick jerks of her head.] Who called me?