It was, I assure you, my dear children, kept up most carefully.  There was always a button to sew on, a buttonhole to remake, or a tear to be mended.  Thus constantly in touch with the household Madame Hen soon thought she belonged to it.  Indeed, worn out by the teasing of her companions, by the constant arguments she had with them, and touched on the other hand by the affectionate care of her mistresses, Yollande stayed more and more in the house.  Coddled and swathed in her fantastic costumes, she sat in the chimney corner like a little Cinderella changed into a hen; from this corner she quietly watched; nothing escaped her notice.

Meanwhile her reputation had grown, not only amongst her comrades, but amongst all the animals of the neighbourhood, who, hearing her discussed, were anxious to see her.

Woe to the cat or dog who dared venture too far into the room!  Very annoyed at this impertinent curiosity, she would leap upon the importunate stranger and punish him terribly with her sharp beak.  Of course he would run off howling and frightened to death.  It was very funny to watch.

Mother Etienne and Germaine were much amused at these little comedies, and whenever visitors came to the farm they would try to provoke one.  Everyone enjoyed them hugely.

Germaine treated Yollande like a doll.  She made her all sorts of fashionable clothes.  The Cochin-China would be dressed sometimes like a man, sometimes like a woman.  She had made her quite a collection of little trousers and vests, which had style, I can tell you.  She had copied, too, from a circus she had seen, an English clown’s costume which was most becoming.  Nothing could be funnier than to watch this tiny dwarf, to see her strut, jump, dance, coming and going, skipping around suddenly,—­one moment skittish, the next very important.

Petit-Jacques loved to tease her, but not roughly; he would push her with his foot, and make her jump at him impatiently, looking perfectly ridiculous in her quaint dress.  You could have sworn she was a miniature clown.  Add to all this, the queer inarticulate sounds she made when she was angry, and even then you can have no idea how very amusing these pantomimes were.

Soon the fame of Yollande spread far and wide.  She became celebrated throughout the district.  Instead of asking Mother Etienne how she was, people asked: 

“How’s your hen today, Mother Etienne?”

CHAPTER IV

FATHER GUSSON’S SECRET

One day a peddler, such as often come round to villages, laden like a mule, and leading by the bridle an ass still more laden, appeared at the farm.  Both looked well but tired and dusty—­they seemed to have had a long journey.

Father Gusson, such was the good man’s name, sold all sorts of things, from tooth-brushes to shoes,—­including hardware, glassware, notions, drugs, and even patent medicines.