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"No, I should not," replied the cunning old dame, "I know better than that. Why, my clutch was quite as numerous as yours is when I had done hatching."
"What has become of them, then? I only see one."
"Become of them, indeed, why dead to be sure. I pecked all their brains out—yes, and ate them, too, and very good they were. I had no idea of killing myself by scratching for so many; no, not I. One is ample for any reasonable bird to rear."
"Ah, to be sure, I never thought of that," soliloquised the Kurwie, "it is not by any means a bad idea;" then aloud, "I say, Dame Courtenie, did you not think it very wrong to kill all your brood but one chick?"
"Wrong, indeed, not I. I even find one a greater tax on my energies than I care for, but I'll rear him now that he is so well grown. If I were in your place, however, I should kill (without the slightest scruple) every chick you have, and never think twice about it, that I should. Why, by the time that these young ones of yours are old enough to look after themselves you will be quite worn down to bones and feathers, when, if you don't take care, you will stand a fair chance of visiting your old aerial abode in the clouds through the agency of a whirlwind. Now, don't you be soft-hearted in the matter; just take my advice, and let their brains out without more ado. If, however, you should have a sort of slight affection for the little torments do as I did, save one, but if you do like me you will find that one all too many for your personal comfort."
"Well, Dame Courtenie, I think you are quite right, a clutch like mine is too much of a good thing altogether.
