From the staircase, down which I bounded two or three steps at a time, I could hear the cock-a-doodle-doo of my enemy. His shrill voice seemed to pierce through one’s head, it was such a self-satisfied, such a confident tone of voice, that as I listened I seemed to hesitate in my design of bearding the little cock. However, after a moment I regained my courage, and I said to him—just as if he could hear me,—“Hollo, Mr. Cock, in five minutes you won’t hold your cockscomb quite so high!”

As valour need not altogether exclude prudence, I thought it wise to take my father’s fishing-rod with me. And I drew my cap well down over my eyes.

As I entered the kitchen I found my mother already there; she was engaged in picking lentils and removing the little pebbles which clung to them.

“Are you going out fishing?” she asked laughingly.

“No, mamma, I was only going—” Then it occurred to me that I had determined I would not tell anybody of my audacious project—that my intended victory over the bantam was to be a profound secret until I was the undoubted conqueror. I bit my tongue and prudently cut the sentence short. As I never told a lie, I did not give a word of explanation.

“Put down the fishing-rod,” said my mother without paying any attention to my evident embarrassment; “take off your cap, and come and ............