The Speckled Hen:

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVII, Issue 23761, 14 September 1940, Page 3 (Supplement)

The Speckled Hen:

CCT AM going out to a meeting I this afternoon," said Ellen's , •*" mother one day. ."So you must stay down at the cottage. "Oh ! Goodie, goodie," cried Ellen, clapping her hands, for she loved to be left with her "Old Ladies" as she called the two occupants of the cottage. "I'll have an egg for mj tea," she added happily. "You had better wait until you are asked to stay to tea, my dear, answered her mother. Ellen ignored this remark. The speckled hen always lays me an egg, she said with serene confidence. "The speckled hen? Oh!" Then Ellen's mother laughed gently. I am afraid it wouldn't be a very nice.one, she stated, for the speckled hen had been a stuffed-and-mounted bird ever since she had known its kindhearted owners, and that was a very long time. "But she lavs me an egg every time I go there. . . .a special one. . . .t h e Old Ladies told me so," persisted Ellen. In the afternoon Ellen was taken down to the cottage and at once she commenced her usual much loved inspection of the articles in the oldfashioned parlour. First there was the barometer to be read. It is to be fine," murmured Ellen to liersell, seeing the painted wooden lady was outside the quaintly carved little house, while her husband stayed quietly Then there was the shining wax fruit to be examined through the thin glass

cover that protected the collection. The apple, looked pale and peaky and the clustered grapes were fast losing their powdery bloom, but the dish and its contents, together with the bobbly wool mat on which it stood were always a subject of serious study on the part of the,little girl. Next there was the never failing excitement of turning over the glass paperweight ball on the crowded table and watching the realistic snowstorm

that fell in tiny flakes on to the miniature alpine scene placed so mysteriously inside the glass orb. The fancy trinket box, its polished exterior garnished with hundreds of tiny shells and "A present from Brighton" in fading gilt letters printed on the lid. . . .the picture of tiny slender-legged horses ridden by large tall-hatted ladies, that in spite of the voluminous skirts that almost obliterated them, seemed to be always galloping at top speed. . . . The friendlv but too eager cuckoo that called the hours melodiously, but much too fast and the enormous double inkstand with its fascinating collection of odds and ends

By D. E. Tyson

.. . . all objects of delight to the frankly curious child. Eventually Ellen arrived at the stand of the beloved speckled hen. It stood on a low bench and was placed so closely to the painted wall that the hard polished beak was almost touching it. Ellen cared little if the hen had been some prize pedigree bird or merely a household pet, it was her special friend and the receiver of many a whispered secret. "You are so nice and fluffv," she said, stroking the black and white feathers with aifection. "Tap. tap. tap," answered the hen, as her beak touched the wooden wall. "I'm nearly five now," informed Ellen proudly. "When I have another birthday I shall be going to school, and then I won't be able to see you so often, but you will still lay me an egg, won't you?" "Tap, tap, tap," was the reply. _ So the happy days passed until one afternoon something unexpected happened. , . , "There will soon be another little girl here for you to play with," said one of the Old Ladies. "Florrie is coming to live with us. She has no mother and her daddy is away on the sea. Yon will be kind to her won't you, Ellen?" "Yes," promised Ellen, but her heart sank a little at the startling news. Then she brightened up. It would be more fun perhaps sharing the delights of that parlour with another admirer. Thev could play "houses" and have adventures, for the winding stairs of the cottage were made for fairy tales. There could be a real princess to rescue after the hard climb up the steps of the enchanted castle, instead of the unresponding flaxen haired doll. . .. Yes, ft would be even better than before! . .. At last Florrie arrived, a pale delicate child with dark frowning brows. Ellen was dismayed, but full_ of sympathy for the motherless arrival, she made a valiant effort to be friends. Florrie was immensely interested in the alpine snowstorm, and liked the barometer and the cuckoo clock, but she seemed unimpressed with the speckled hen. "Pooh! It's only a silly stuffed old fowl," she scoffed. Ellen was horrified. ' 'But she talks, she protested, smoothing the feathered back. "She says, 'tap, tap, tap,' for 'yes' always." "Only because she is, so close to the wall. . . .see. . . and Florries tugged at the stand to shift it further away. Luckily for Ellen's happiness the stand

was too heavy to be moved, and a welcome call for tea from the kitchen saved the quarrel that threatened so unexpectedly. After tea, while Florrie was washing her sticky fingers. Ellen slipped back into the" darkened parlour. Tiptoeing over to the hen's dusky corner, she laid her flushed- cheek on the cool plumage. She realised now that to her the cottage contents would never be quite the same again. Something had gone, never to return. Ellen was growing up although she did not know it. "I'm starting school next week but I will never forget you, and you will always love and remember me, won t vou?" she whispered. " "Tap, tap, tap," went the speckled hen.