with quills of
jetty black, gleaming with bronze, were so strong they almost lifted his
body. He had three inches of tail, and his beak and claws were sharp.
His muscles began to clamor for exercise. He raced the forty feet of his
home back and forth many times every hour of the day. After a few days
of that, he began lifting and spreading his wings, and flopping them
until the down on his back was filled with elm fiber. Then he commenced
jumping. The funny little hops, springs, and sidewise bounds he gave
set Freckles and the Angel, hidden in the swamp, watching him, into
smothered chuckles of delight.

Sometimes he fell to coquetting with himself; and that was the funniest
thing of all, for he turned his head up, down, from side to side, and
drew in his chin with prinky little jerks and tilts. He would stretch
his neck, throw up his head, turn it to one side and smirk--actually
smirk, the most complacent and self-satisfied smirk that anyone ever
saw on the face of a bird. It was so comical that Freckles and the Angel
told the Bird Woman of it one day.

When she finished her work on Little Chicken, she left them the camera
ready for use, telling them they might hide in the bushes and watch. If
Little Chicken came out and truly smirked, and they could squeeze the
bulb at the proper moment to snap him, she would be more than delighted.

Freckles and the Angel quietly curled beside a big log, and with eager
eyes and softest breathing they patiently waited; but Little Chicken had
feasted before they told of his latest accomplishment. He was tired
and sleepy, so he went into the log to bed, and for an hour he never
stirred.

They were becoming anxious, for the light soon would be gone, and they
had so wanted to try for the picture. At last Little Chicken lifted his
head, opened his beak, and gaped widely. He dozed a minute or two more.
The Angel said that was his beauty sleep. Then he lazily gaped again
and stood up, stretching and yawning. He ambled leisurely toward the
gateway, and the Angel said: "Now, we may have a chance, at last."

"I do hope so," shivered Freckles.

With one accord they arose to their knees and trained their eyes on
the mouth of the log. The light was full and strong. Little Chicken
prospected again with no results. He dressed his plumage, polished his
beak, and when he felt fine and in full toilet he began to flirt with
himself. Freckles' eyes snapped and his breath sucked between his
clenche