y-mow, they began to run about and enjoy themselves with all their
might. Peep found a little hole into the meal-room, and slipped in, full
of joy at the sight of the bags, boxes, and bins. 'I'll eat all I want,
and then I'll call Peck,' she said; and having taken a taste of every
thing, she was about to leave, when she heard the stableman coming, and
in her fright couldn't find the hole, so flew into the meal-bin and hid
herself. Sam never saw her, but shut down the cover of the bin as he
passed, and left poor Peep to die. No one knew what had become of her
till some days later, when she was found dead in the meal, with her poor
little claws sticking straight up as if imploring help. Peck meanwhile
got into mischief also; for, in her hunt for something good to eat, she
strayed into the sheep-shed, and finding some salt, ate as much as she
liked, not knowing that salt is bad for hens. Having taken all she
wanted, she ran back to the barn, and was innocently catching gnats when
her mamma came out of the hay-mow with a loud. 'Cut-cut-cut-ca-dar-cut!'

'Where is Peep?' asked Mrs. Cluck.

'Don't know, ma. She'--there Peck stopped suddenly, rolled up her eyes,
and began to stagger about as if she was tipsy.

'Mercy on us! What's the matter with the chick?' cried Mrs. Cluck, in
great alarm.

'Fits, ma'am,' answered Doctor Drake, who just then waddled by.

'Oh! what can I do?' screamed the distracted hen.

'Nothing, ma'am; it's fatal.' And the doctor waddled on to visit Dame
Partlet's son, who was ill of the pip.

'My child, my child! don't flap and stagger so! Let me hold you! Taste
this mint-leaf! Have a drop of water! What shall I do?'

As poor Mrs. Cluck sighed and sobbed, her unhappy child went scuffling
about on her back, gasping and rolling up her eyes in great anguish, for
she had eaten too much of the fatal salt, and there was no help for her.
When all was over they buried the dead chicken under a currant bush,
covered the little grave with chickweed, and the bereaved parent wore a
black string round her leg for a month.

Blot, 'the last of that bright band,' needed no mourning for she was as
black as a crow. This was the reason why her mother never had loved her
as much as she did the others, who were all white, gray, or yellow.
Poor little Blot had been much neglected by every one; but now her
lonely mamma discovered how good and affectionate a chicken she was, for
Blot was a great comfort to her, never run