I was amused at a story of the experience of
Y lady who, with an eye to economics and good onusekeeping, bought a dozen day-old ducks and became their foster-mother, the intention t'eing to put them to the sword when they reached what hoteliers call roast duckling size. "'las, the ducklings have proved such charming ereatures, following their owner about and raising their heads in unison to respond with tluacks when she speaks to them, that the plan 10 eat them cannot be contemplated. The ducklings have come to be known as 'my boys.' '43w, if they are ever eaten by anyone, they ilvill be pretty old lads and the lady who uroUght them up is unlikely to be present
at the table. The same thing almost happened when my father raised six cockerels. These were the product of a setting of fourteen eggs and were fattened for the table, but who could kill such tame birds? Who could even think of it? Time passed and they became older, more stringy and more aggressive with each other. At length the poulterer called and obliged. It seemed a shameful business, but sentimental attachments are an impossible luxury to a keeper of a few hens.
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