“An idea!” “Well, let us have it, too.” “I will undertake to make those hens produce. You’ll soon have so many eggs you won’t know what to do with them.” Linda laughed so much she choked on the grated manioc she had mixed with her beans and rice. Someone made a joking remark about city slickers not knowing much about poultry. “You shall see what a city slicker can do with a bunch of old hens,” affirmed Harry, and calling his wee son, Larry, to be his helper, he finished off his dinner and marched out to the chicken yard. Millie’s unshakable faith in her husband’s capabilities already envisioned a beautiful, fluffy golden cake. She went through the trunks in search of Betty Crocker’s cookbook to plan her culinary triumph. In the weeks that followed there seemed to be quite a bit of activity around the chicken house, and the hens were enjoying the fuss. “Come on, Larry boy, we’ve got an appointment with those old hens. Bring all the scraps from the table, and let’s go out and see what’s happening. I’ve got a hunch that Mamma’s going to make us something special today.” Larry and Daddy went out the back door. Daddy still limped a bit these days. During a trek through the jungle the tropical sores on his feet had become worse, and then
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