[_To_ CHANTECLER.] On your farm, which you secretly
yearn for.
CHANTECLER
[_In a voice of injured innocence._] I?
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_To the_ RABBIT, _giving him a light tap with her wing to send him
home._] Afraid of nothing but dogs. And since you put me in mind of it,
I think I must go and perplex their noses, by tangling my tracks all
among the grass and underwoods.
CHANTECLER
That's it, you go and fool the dogs!
THE PHEASANT-HEN
[_Starts of, then returns._] You are homesick for that wretched old farm
of yours?
CHANTECLER
I? I? [_She goes off. He repeats indignantly._] I? [_Watching her out of
sight, then, dropping his voice, to the_ WOODPECKER.] She is not coming
back, is she?
THE WOODPECKER
[_Who from his high window in the tree can look off._] No.
SCENE THIRD
CHANTECLER, THE WOODPECKER.
CHANTECLER
[_Eagerly._] Keep watch! They are going to talk with me from home.
THE WOODPECKER
[_Interested._] Who?
CHANTECLER
The Blackbird.
THE WOODPECKER
I thought he hated you.
CHANTECLER
He came near it, but the Blackbird cast of mind admits of compromise,
and it amuses him to keep me informed.
THE WOODPECKER
Is he coming?
CHANTECLER
[_Who is a different bird since the_ PHEASANT-HEN'S _exit,
light-hearted, boyishly cheerful._] No, but the blue morning-glory
opening in his cage amid the wistaria, communicates by subterranean
filaments with this white convolvulus trembling above the pool.
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