I went out of the room as soon as I could do so without being remarked. My mother soon came after me.
“Isn’t Doctor Lombalot a real original?” said she, trying to smile, “but one must not believe all he says, you know. You see, neither your Papa nor I believe him, dear; and he was very wrong and very rude to say those things about you, which could only annoy you. But do not trouble about it, my darling boy.”
I could not say I did not trouble about the doctor’s unkind remarks, for in truth I troubled greatly about them. That shows how careful grown-up people should be in the things they say before children, who cannot as yet distinguish what is false or exaggerated, from what is just and true.
The next morning, I felt so upset that I was really unequal to undertake my famous expedition against the little cock. It was again a deferred project, a battle put off until the following day.
On that following day, I went down stairs with my mother, and, going to the door which led into the yard where the chickens were kept, I opened it wide and looked out. I saw only the hens and chickens, which were clucking and scratching away on the ground. I gathered courage, and walked outside with a firm step: I walked through the yard into the garden where the roses grew and the apricot tree stood.
There a great surprise awaited me! For there in a corner lay the little bantam-cock on his back with his two little legs straight up in the air. He was quite dead: he had probably been seized with apoplexy, caused by his violent temper and excessive gluttony. The other fowls, with culpable indifference, were pecking about quite as usual, apparently not wasting a single thought or sigh on the memory of the defunct.
“A good riddance!” said I with a sigh of relief. And that was the only funeral speech that was made at the demise of the impertinent little bantam.
From that day I took possession of garden and yard. My mother remarked that I had taken a sudden fancy for building little cottages with pieces of slate and tile, and that I was always outside at work, in the yard. My enemy was replaced by a large rooster; very tall, sullen of aspect, and also extremely cowardly. He never ventured to trouble me in my architectural studies.
Thus ended the great trial which was to have decided which was the better warrior, the bantam or myself, and which trial was to put my courage to the test. Things were now really left as they were, for the trial of strength never came off, by reason of the little cock’s untimely death. But, to tell the truth, in my heart of hearts, I was not sorry that the intended passage of arms with my fierce little antagonist did not take place.