ning away or disobeying in any
way, but always close to her side, ready to creep under her wing, or
bring her a plump bug when the poor biddy's appetite failed her. They
were very happy together till Thanksgiving drew near, when a dreadful
pestilence seemed to sweep through the farm-yard; for turkeys, hens,
ducks, and geese fell a prey to it, and were seen by their surviving
relatives featherless, pale, and stiff, borne away to some unknown place
whence no fowl returned. Blot was waked one night by a great cackling
and fluttering in the hen-house, and peeping down from her perch saw a
great hand glide along the roost, clutch her beloved mother by the leg,
and pull her off, screaming dolefully, 'Good-by, good-by, my darling
child!'

Aunt Cockletop pecked and croaked fiercely; but, tough as she was, the
old biddy did not escape, and many another amiable hen and gallant
cockadoodle fell a victim to that mysterious hand. In the morning few
remained, and Blot felt that she was a forlorn orphan, a thought which
caused her to sit with her head under her wing for several hours,
brooding over her sad lot, and longing to join her family in some safe
and happy land, where fowls live in peace. She had her wish very soon,
for one day, when the first snowflakes began to flutter out of the cold
gray sky, Blot saw a little kitten mewing pitifully as it sat under the
fence.

'What is the matter, dear?' asked kind Blot.

'I'm lost, and I can't find my way home,' answered the kitten, shivering
with cold. 'I live at the red farm-house over the hill, only I don't
know which road to take.'

'I'll show you. Come at once, for night is coming on, and the snow will
soon be too deep for us,' said Blot.

So away they went, as fast as their small legs could carry them; but it
was a long way, and dusk came on before the red farm-house appeared.

'Now I'm safe; thank you very much. Won't you come in, and stay all
night? My mother will be glad to see you,' said the kit rubbing her soft
white face against Blot's little black breast.

'It's against the rule to stay out all night, and I promised to be in
early; so, good-by, dear.' And off trotted Blot along the snowy road,
hoping to get home before the hen-house door was shut. Faster and faster
fell the snow darker and darker grew the night, and colder and colder
became poor Blot's little feet as she waded through the drifts. The
firelight was shining out into the gloom, as the half-frozen chicke