Poultry Meg's Family

								
Poultry Meg was the only person who lived in the new stately
dwelling that had been built for the fowls and ducks belonging to
the manor house. It stood there where once the old knightly building
had stood with its tower, its pointed gables, its moat, and its
drawbridge. Close by it was a wilderness of trees and thicket; here
the garden had been, and had stretched out to a great lake, which
was now moorland. Crows and choughs flew screaming over the old trees,
and there were crowds of birds; they did not seem to get fewer when
any one shot among them, but seemed rather to increase. One heard
the screaming into the poultry-house, where Poultry Meg sat with the
ducklings running to and fro over her wooden shoes. She knew every
fowl and every duck from the moment it crept out of the shell; and she
was fond of her fowls and her ducks, and proud of the stately house
that had been built for them. Her own little room in the house was
clean and neat, for that was the wish of the gracious lady to whom the
house belonged. She often came in the company of grand noble guests,
to whom she showed "the hens' and ducks' barracks," as she called
the little house.

Here were a clothes cupboard, and an arm-chair, and even a
chest of drawers; and on these drawers a polished metal plate had been
placed, whereon was engraved the word "Grubbe," and this was the
name of the noble family that had lived in the house of old. The brass
plate had been found when they were digging the foundation; and the
clerk has said it had no value except in being an old relic. The clerk
knew all about the place, and about the old times, for he had his
knowledge from books, and many a memorandum had been written and put
in his table-drawer. But the oldest of the crows perhaps knew more
than he, and screamed it out in her own language; but that was the
crow's language, and the clerk did not understand that, clever as he
was.

After the hot summer days the mist sometimes hung over the
moorland as if a whole lake were behind the old trees, among which the
crows and the daws were fluttering; and thus it had looked when the
good Knight Grubbe had lived here--when the old manor house stood with
its thick red walls. The dog-chain used to reach in those days quite
over the gateway; through the tower one went into a paved passage
which led to the rooms; the windows were narrow, and the panes were
small, even in the great hall where the dancing used to be; but in the
time of the last Grubbe, there had been no dancing in the hall
within the memory of man, although an old drum still lay there that
had served as part of the music. Here stood a quaintly carved
cupboard, in which rare flower-roots were kept, for my Lady Grubbe was
fond of plants and cultivated trees and shrubs. Her husband
preferred riding out to shoot wolves and boars; and his little
daughter Marie always went with him part of the way. When she was only
five years old, she would sit proudly on her horse, and look saucily
round with her great black eyes. It was a great amusement to her to
hit out among the hunting-dogs with her whip; but her father would
rather have seen her hit among the peasant boys, who came running up
to stare at their lord.

The peasant in the clay hut close by the knightly house had a
son named Soren, of the same age as the gracious little lady. The
boy could climb well, and had always to bring her down the bird's
nests. The birds screamed as loud as they could, and one of the
greatest of them hacked him with its beak over the eye so that the
blood ran down, and it was at first thought the eye had been
destroyed; but it had not been injured after all. Marie Grubbe used to
call him her Soren, and that was a great favor, and was an advantage
to Soren's father--poor Jon, who had one day committed a fault, and
was to be punished by riding on the wooden horse. This same horse
stood in the courtyard, and had four poles for legs, and a single
narrow plant for a back; on this Jon had to ride astride, and some
heavy bricks were fastened to his feet into the bargain, that he might
not sit too comfortably. He made horrible grimaces, and Soren wept and
implored little Marie to interfere. She immediately ordered that
Soren's father should be taken down, and when they did not obey her,
she stamped on the floor, and pulled at her father's sleeve till it
was torn to pieces. She would have her way, and she got her way, and
Soren's father was taken down.

Lady Grubbe, who now came up, parted her little daughter's hair
from the child's brow, and looked at her affectionately; but Marie did
not understand why.

She wanted to go to the hounds, and not to her mother, who went
down into the garden, to the lake where the water-lily bloomed, and
the heads of bulrushes nodded amid the reeds; and she looked at all
this beauty and freshness. "How pleasant!" she said. In the garden
stood at that time a rare tree, which she herself had planted. It
was called the blood-beech--a kind of negro growing among the other
trees, so dark brown were the leaves. This tree required much
sunshine, for in continual shade it would become bright green like the
other trees, and thus lose its distinctive character. In the lofty
chestnut trees were many birds' nests, and also in the thickets and in
the grassy meadows. It seemed as though the birds knew that they
were protected here, and that no one must fire a gun at them.

Little Marie came here with Soren. He knew how to climb, as we
have already said, and eggs and fluffy-feathered young birds were
brought down. The birds, great and small, flew about in terror and
tribulation; the peewit from the fields, and the crows and daws from
the high trees, screamed and screamed; it was just such din as the
family will raise to the present day.

"What are you doing, you children?" cried the gentle lady; "that
is sinful!"

Soren stood abashed, and even the little gracious lady looked down
a little; but then he said, quite short and pretty,

"My father lets me do it!"

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