hat hive of industry, represented by the farm, Sarah was the
one idle figure. She sat on the fence commanding a view of the pig
pen--not the pleasantest prospect Rainbow Hill afforded, it must be
confessed--and dangled her feet moodily. She was still resentful at
the summary ejection of the barn cat from the clothes basket and, in
addition, had been worsted in an argument with Warren whose turn it was
to cultivate the corn. Sarah had wished to ride on the cultivator,
preferably in the driver's seat or, failing that, on the horse's back.
Warren had endeavored to dissuade her as tactfully as possible but
finding that tact made small impression on Sarah, had been obliged to
come out with a flat refusal.

"What a funny chicken!" said Sarah aloud, turning her attention from
the grunting pigs before her to a solitary chicken behind her, a feat
which nearly cost her her balance.

"I do b'lieve it's sick!" she declared, jumping down and walking over
to the limp-looking fowl which stared at her coldly from a glassy eye.

Sarah, in the few weeks she had spent on the farm, had really learned a
good deal about the care of the stock. To her natural love for animals
and aptitude for handling them, she had added a store of knowledge
gleaned by asking questions of the boys and Mr. Hildreth and observing
them as they went about the barns. She had faithfully tagged Mrs.
Hildreth, who took care of the poultry too, and had often seen her pick
up a chicken and examine it.

So now she picked up the apathetic bird and felt of his crop with
exploring little brown fingers.

"You're hungry, I'll bet," she informed him. "You probably didn't feel
well this morning and the other hens knocked you away from the corn.
Don't you care, I'll get you some breakfast, all for yourself."

Sarah knew where the grain bins were in the barn and she went in and
opened them all. Using her dress as an apron she selected a handful of
wheat, another of cracked corn, some buckwheat, a generous scoop of
"middlings" and a double handful of the meat scraps bought especially
for the ducks. Then out she dashed and spread the feast before the hen
who really did brighten up and eat a good deal of the grain. No one
hen could have eaten it all--and survived--and of course the other
chickens spied the feast in time, but not before the invalid had been
revived somewhat.

"Now I'll put you in a coop till you feel better," said Sarah, "so
nothing can pick on you."