Scene SECOND

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Panting, tragically earnest.] I ran all the way.—— You were there.——Oh, I am half dead with terror!—— Well, you must have overheard their dreadful secret! You, his friend!

THE BLACKBIRD. [Cheerfully rummaging among the moss.] Or the thigh of a katydid will do.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. I was watching from a distance. I crouched in a ditch ——[In an anguished voice.] Well?

THE BLACKBIRD. [In genuine surprise.] Well, what?

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Their conspiracy ——

THE BLACKBIRD. [Calmly.] It all went off very nicely.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. What do you mean?

THE BLACKBIRD. The shadow was a correct and appropriate blue, and the Owls said perfectly characteristic things.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [In wild alarm.] Heavens, they plotted his death?

THE BLACKBIRD. His decease, which is not nearly so bad.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. But——

THE BLACKBIRD. Don't smite your brow! In spite of the Screech-Owl's grave and self-important tone, I shouldn't wonder if it all amounted to very little.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Those Owls——

THE BLACKBIRD. Are good enough in their various parts, but it's the old excessive style of acting.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. I beg your pardon?

THE BLACKBIRD. Back numbers!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Oh?

THE BLACKBIRD. They have eyelashes, fancy, all the way round their eyes! It's too much of a good thing, really. — And that black plot, those desperately dark designs, all that belongs to the year one; you can see moss growing on its back!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Fluttering hither and thither feverishly.] I am never quite sure of understanding when a person is talking in fun.

THE BLACKBIRD. [Winking at her.] No flies on your acting!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Surely you wouldn't be laughing if he were in danger? Those ruffians——?

THE BLACKBIRD. Prattlers! Wooden Swords! Knights of Hot Air!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. But Scops——?

THE BLACKBIRD. A stuffed Owl!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. And the Great Bubo ——?

THE BLACKBIRD. Just two ten-candle-power lamps, to be turned on and off with a switch, — crick-crack! And Flammeolus, two lamps likewise — but acetylene!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Bewildered by his imagery.] And so——?

THE BLACKBIRD. No, trembling Gypsy, there's not enough in this great plot to choke a flea withal!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Truly? I have been so horribly afraid——

THE BLACKBIRD. Fear, I warn you, lovely Zingara, leads to dyspepsia! It's because he keeps his eye closed and buried in the sand that the ostrich has preserved his famous digestion!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. So it might seem.

THE BLACKBIRD. We have in these latter days bowed Tragedy respect- fully out of the house!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. But had we not best warn Chantecler, so that ——

THE BLACKBIRD. He would go instantly and challenge them. And then such a whetting of steel!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. You are right. So he would.

THE BLACKBIRD. On your principle, mad Gitana, an oak-gall could be made into a world.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. You have much good sense.

THE BLACKBIRD. Daughter of the forest, I have.

CHANTECLER'S VOICE. [Outside.] Coa——

THE PHEASANT-HEN. Chantecler!

CHANTECLER. [Approaching on the left, between the hollies, calls from afar] Who is there?

THE PHEASANT-HEN. It is I!

CHANTECLER. [Still from a distance] Alone?

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [With a significant look at the BLACKBIRD.] Yes, alone.

THE BLACKBIRD. [Understanding.] I vanish — I am off to supper.

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [Low to the BLACKBIRD.] And so ——?

THE BLACKBIRD. [Motioning her to be silent.] Keep it dark![As he is leaving, by the right, in the manner of one giving an order to a waiter.] Earwigs for one!

THE PHEASANT-HEN. [-Low.] It is wiser, you think, not to tell him?

THE BLACKBIRD. [Before disappearing among the flower-pots.] Well, rather!