Jemima complained of the superfluous hen.

“Indeed! how interesting!  I wish I could meet with that fowl.  I would teach it to mind its own business!”

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“But as to a nest—­there is no difficulty:  I have a sackful of feathers in my wood-shed.  No, my dear madam, you will be in nobody’s way.  You may sit there as long as you like,” said the bushy long-tailed gentleman.

He led the way to a very retired, dismal-looking house amongst the fox-gloves.

It was built of faggots and turf, and there were two broken pails, one on top of another, by way of a chimney.

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“This is my summer residence; you would not find my earth—­my winter house—­so convenient,” said the hospitable gentleman.

There was a tumble-down shed at the back of the house, made of old soap-boxes.  The gentleman opened the door, and showed Jemima in.

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The shed was almost quite full of feathers—­it was almost suffocating; but it was comfortable and very soft.

Jemima Puddle-duck was rather surprised to find such a vast quantity of feathers.  But it was very comfortable; and she made a nest without any trouble at all.

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When she came out, the sandy whiskered gentleman was sitting on a log reading the newspaper—­at least he had it spread out, but he was looking over the top of it.

He was so polite, that he seemed almost sorry to let Jemima go home for the night.  He promised to take great care of her nest until she came back again next day.

He said he loved eggs and ducklings; he should be proud to see a fine nestful in his wood-shed.

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Jemima Puddle-duck came every afternoon; she laid nine eggs in the nest.  They were greeny white and very large.  The foxy gentleman admired them immensely.  He used to turn them over and count them when Jemima was not there.

At last Jemima told him that she intended to begin to sit next day—­“and I will bring a bag of corn with me, so that I need never leave my nest until the eggs are hatched.  They might catch cold,” said the conscientious Jemima.

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“Madam, I beg you not to trouble yourself with a bag; I will provide oats.  But before you commence your tedious sitting, I intend to give you a treat.  Let us have a dinner-party all to ourselves!

“May I ask you to bring up some herbs from the farm-garden to make a savoury omelette?  Sage and thyme, and mint and two onions, and some parsley.  I will provide lard for the stuff—­lard for the omelette,” said the hospitable gentleman with sandy whiskers.

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Jemima Puddle-duck was a simpleton:  not even the mention of sage and onions made her suspicious.

She went round the farm-garden, nibbling off snippets of all the different sorts of herbs that are used for stuffing roast duck.