Part 3

"I would suggest, madam, that you retire to a place of security. We males will defend you."

Then going again to the rooster and the turkey, he said:

"Clarence, you had better take command. You know more about fighting than any of the rest of us."

"Very well," replied the rooster without enthusiasm. "But I'm not much at this military business. All my fighting experience has been in the line of duels--just formal affairs between bird and bird for the sake of ladies' favors--and I can't say I'm very keen for a proposition like _this_. But Jim, here, ought to be able to make an impression on it: he's the most formidable blusterer going."

"I'm afraid you overrate me," said the turkey hastily. "I--er--I'm willing, of course, to do my share in any general plan that may be decided on. But I should not advise you to count on me too heavily, for, while I am able to maintain a bold front and a resolute tail against such light skirmishers as cats, lapdogs, babies, and so forth, I could hardly cope with this modern machinery of destruction."

Meanwhile the Monster continued its ever-diminishing spirals. Its proximity appeared particularly menacing on the side of the barnyard which was unprotected by a fence. Here Clarence, at the earnest suggestion of Eustace, drew up all the males who would respond to his call for volunteers. Most of them were afraid. Their beaks chattered.

Behind them a hysterical crowd of females shrieked, cackled, and plucked their disheveled feathers. Wives and morganatic mates, who in the past had been ready to peck each other's eyes out, now wept on each other's wing in sympathy. Hens who had always been most careful of their reputations, cried: "Oh, my Clarence!" One poor thing was so overcome that she laid an egg before assistance could be brought her.

Through the midst of this frantic crowd Bertram, the swan, pinioned his way, remarking coolly:

"I see no reason for becoming excited. The Monster won't go into the _pond_. Any bird's perfectly safe _there_."

"But we can't swim!"

"Then you should have learned. Come, Gwendolyn; let us withdraw from this unseemly confusion."

And together the swans swept down the bank into the water.

"They all think only of themselves!" thought Eustace sadly.

"Hurry, Johnnie! Don't stop to peck at that!" called a Guinea hen to the straggler of her brood. "See how far ahead of us Papa is!"

"What! Surely you're not _deserting_!" cried the drake.

None of the Guinea caravan paused to answer, but set out across the field as fast as they could scoot.

"Go!" shouted Eustace after them. "Fly to the wilderness, Gypsies, renegades! We have no need of cowards!"

The gobbler, too, was filled with exasperation as he watched the spryness of the keet family.

"Confound it!" he muttered under his comb-appendage. "Why aren't _our_ youngsters hatched and in traveling condition!"

Eustace did not hear. He heard and saw only the oncoming Monster, which had ravaged all the wheat save a last slender strip, and this it was in the act of devouring; and as if this slight morsel could not glut its hunger, it reached out voraciously into the barnyard. All fowldom seemed about to be destroyed.

"_Now_, Clarence!"

The rooster started forward, then hesitated.

"Then follow me!"

Disregarding the fear he could not subdue, Eustace flung himself desperately in front of the Thing, quacking:

"Halt! You shall not...."

And he aimed at it the fiercest bite of which he was capable.

Gashed, bleeding, dying, he lay at the edge of the barnyard.

"The Thing has gone!" cried somebird.

"Eustace drove it away!"

"Look! See it slink off without making a sound! Its wing is broken!"

In truth the Monster, having laid low all the wheat in the field, was now retreating to its lair with steelly pinion bent up.

"He has saved us!"

They rushed to him and tried to bind up his wounds.

"Thanks," he said weakly.

Reverently, with tear-dimmed eyes they crowded about him, ministering.

"Thank you, good friends. But your cares are of no avail. My time has come."

"Don't say that, old bird!" protested Clarence huskily. "We need you too badly! No; you're going to live and be the leader of this barnyard."

The drake shook his head feebly.

"Yes, indeed! You're going to have every honor we can give you! Why, man roast me!--you're the bravest bird that ever was! You've got the real stuffing in you! When I think of the way you showed us as a bunch of yellow-legged white-feathers, I realize I'm not fit to scratch worms for you.--And so here, before everybody, I resign my job as leader right now."

"No, Clarence; they depend on you. And I must pass on."

The rooster turned away to hide his emotion,--he was crying like a chick.

"Ah, do not leave us!" pleaded a sweet-faced adolescent. "All of us young fowls look to you for guidance."

Eustace smiled with peaceful tenderness.

"Bless you! You are all my children!"

At which a hen who had the unfortunate habit of taking things literally, exclaimed:

"What's that?"

But luckily Eustace did not hear her. Still addressing his neophytes, he said:

"And you will remember the things I have taught you?"

"Yes, yes! We've resolved that when we grow up we'll be just the sort of birds you'd have us. And I've made up my mind never to have but one wife, and I'm going to win her with my spurs in the open tournament, like a true knight."

One after another, the young fowls told Eustace of the ideals he had implanted in them,--how they would respect henhood, remember the stranger within the crates, hold their crops up resolutely, and never stoop to anything unworthy, even if it looked edible.

Hearing these assurances, Eustace was very happy. An expression of blessed calm o'erspread his bill.

"Now I can go in peace," he murmured. And, after a little: "My eyes are becoming dimmer. I can hardly see your faces.--But now I am beginning to have a glimpse of that Land Beyond. Oh, it is wonderful!"

"He is having a vision!" they whispered.

"I see streets of opalescent mud, and lovely gardens teeming with delectable insects, and crystal fountains full of goldfish, and puddles everywhere. I see little radiant-feathered chickibim.

"And there is Gertrude! She is wearing a golden top-knot, and her quacking is above the music of a thousand nightingales.--She is calling to me!... Yes, Gertrude, I am paddling over the river to you!"

Eustace tried to rise, made an ecstatic movement with one web, then fell back lifeless.

All remained silent.

At last the rooster, clearing his throat with an effort, said:

"Friends, we have lost a great prophet, a martyr, the savior of the whole barnyard. He was the paragon of poultry: throughout his life he was impeckable."