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years unused, there is a room partitioned off
that we call the salt stall, I don’t know why.
Here we established our four chickens. I
immediately gave them names: Lova, Diksy,
Valpurga, and Carola. Karsten and I stuffed
them with food, and all day tliey went about
scratching in our kitchen garden, where,
how-ever, nothing ever grows. With shallow,
sandv soil, and a frightful lot of sun, you might
know it couldn’t amount to anything.
The first thing I did in the morning was to
let out the chickens. They flapped and
fluttered around me in the fresh, cool
morning stillness under the maples. It always takes
some time for the sunshine to get down to our
place, because of the hiil.
Lova, Diksy, and Valpurga were quite
ordinary long-legged chickens that scratched
and picked all day long, but Carola began little
by little to behave with more dignity. She
stepped out vigorously, and scratched
side-ways, stood still for minutes at a time, just as
if she were listening for something, and always
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