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Updated: June 15, 2025
Miss Betty mixed up molasses and flour and poison and killed flies sometimes. She spread it on brown paper. We had fly weed tea to set about too sometimes. We didn't have to use anything regular. We didn't have no screens. We had mighty few mosquitoes. We had peafowl fly brushes. They was mighty pretty. "One thing we had was a deep walled well and an ice-house. "They kept hounds.
But the moment the nine peafowl appeared in the sky he was so delighted that he drew rein and the treacherous serving man was able to slip up behind him and blow the magic bellows on his neck. So again he slept soundly while the ninth peafowl fluttered about his head and tried vainly to arouse him.
So now you know the story of the Peafowl who became a Queen and of the Tsar's Youngest Son who married her. The Story of the Youngest Prince Who Killed the Sparrow There was once a King who had three sons. One day the oldest son went hunting and when night fell his huntsmen came riding home without him. "Where is the prince?" the King asked. "Isn't he here?" the huntsmen said.
Never again would she be changed into a peafowl at the whim of a wicked dragon, never again be separated from her loved one. Presently she mounted the dragon's horse and together she and the Prince returned to the beautiful city.
Some long-eared spaniels, favourites of the lady of the house, were chasing each other up and down the steps, disturbing the slumbers of a couple of fine blood-hounds in the court-yard; or persecuting the proud peafowl that strutted about to display their gorgeous plumage to the spectators. On seeing the party approach, Lady Assheton came down to meet them.
Next came a fox, slouching warily and cautiously along; then a couple of lean, hungry-looking jackals; next a sharp patter on the crisp dry leaves, and several peafowl with resplendent plumage ran rapidly past.
"Can't you make them leave just one apple for my father?" the Prince begged. The maiden spoke to the birds and they flew down with two of the golden apples, one for the Tsar and one for the Prince himself. Then the maiden lifted her arms above her head, changed into a peafowl, and with the other eight flew off into the morning sky.
I always used No. 4 shot with about 3-1/2 drams of powder. Unless hard hit peafowl will often get away; they run with amazing swiftness, and in the heart of the jungle it is almost impossible to make them rise. A couple of sharp terriers, or a good retriever, will sometimes flush them, but the best way is to go along the edge of the jungle in the early morn, as I have described.
The Prince told the old woman that one of them was his love and that unless he married her he would die. "Die, indeed!" scoffed the old woman. "That's no way for a handsome young man to talk! I'll tell you what you ought to do: give up thought of this peafowl princess and marry my daughter. Then I'll make you heir to all my riches."
And a great band, swung into the measures by a firm-bellied kapellmeister as gorgeous in his pounds of gold braid as a peafowl, sets sail into "Parsifal" against a spray of salivary brass.
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