ittle captor's entrance was greeted with shouts of delight on the
part of the children, and by a loving kiss from his mother; for Bub
was a great favorite, and a manly wee boy, despite his loud-lunged
blubbering, in which he excelled on occasions, and his mischievious
pranks, in which also he was the equal of Bubs of more civilized
communities. As he stood in the cabin door, coolly holding the kicking
prairie hen, heedless of its cruel claws, his torn and soiled
baby-frock surmounted by a round fat face, bright blue eyes, and light
hair falling in tangled ringlets, the golden sun resting upon his bare
head and lighting up his dimpled cheek, he formed a picture worthy the
pencil of an artist.

"What a little man you are!" exclaimed the mother, taking the heavy
fowl from him. "You shall have some nice breakfast for this!" and she
put a baked potato and a piece of corn-cake on the corner of a trunk,
and while Bub with a satisfied hum partook of the food, she quietly
slipped out of doors and wrung the hen's neck.

The children plied the little hero with questions as to where and how
he caught the hen, which he took his own time to answer while he
munched. Then they rushed out in a body, hoping to find another. Their
search was successful, and they brought back two, which they found
lying some distance apart, quite dead. The old gun had "scattered"
prodigiously, but, as the flock of hens was so large, did good
execution, as appeared from the result.

Tom was asleep on his mother's bed,--which occupied a corner of the
one room,--but, aroused by the din which greeted Bub when he came in
with the "biddy," regarded the affair quite complacently, although he
said nothing. And as the hens were being picked by 'Lize and Sarah,
he was comforted by the reflection that his well-meant attempt at
gunning had brought the family something to eat. Tom, indeed, had
never seen fowl prepared for the household under just such
circumstances, and he watched each step in the process with peculiar
interest. Mrs. Jones, with a fond mother's quickness, understood well
how he felt, and, though she seemed not to notice him, made unusual
parade in all that was done.

"Be very careful of those feathers, girls. Why, how thick and soft
they are! We'll save every one; and who knows but when Tom gets well
he'll contrive some traps and catch hens enough to make a pair of
pillows, or a feather-bed?"

"Is a feather-bed very nice?" asked Sarah.

"Very,