ground while one of the kits slid up and
down her glossy back, and two others, more timid, crept underneath her
breast, only daring to put out their pink noses! We retired then for
very shame and met Mrs. Greyskin in the doorway. This should have
thickened the plot, but there is apparently no rivalry nor animosity
between the co-mothers. We watch them every day now, through a window in
the roof. Mother Greyskin visits the kittens frequently, lies down
beside the home nest, and gives them their dinner. While this is going
on Mother Blackwing goes modestly away for a bite, a sup, and a little
exercise, returning to the kittens when the cat leaves them. It is
pretty to see her settle down over the four, fat, furry dumplings, and
they seem to know no difference in warmth or comfort, whichever mother is
brooding them; while, as their eyes have been open for a week, it can no
longer be called a blind error on their part.

{Coaxed out . . . by youthful curiosity: p33.jpg}

When we have closed all our small hen-nurseries for the night, there is
still the large house inhabited by the thirty-two full-grown chickens
which Phoebe calls the broilers. I cannot endure the term, and will not
use it. "Now for the April chicks," I say every evening.

"Do you mean the broilers?" asks Phoebe.

"I mean the big April chicks," say I.

"Yes, them are the broilers," says she.

But is it not disagreeable enough to be a broiler when one's time comes,
without having the gridiron waved in one's face for weeks beforehand?

{Nine huddle together: p34.jpg}

The April chicks are all lively and desirous of seeing the world as
thoroughly as possible before going to roost or broil. As a general
thing, we find in the large house sixteen young fowls of the
contemplative, flavourless, resigned-to-the-inevitable variety; three
more (the same three every night) perch on the roof and are driven down;
four (always the same four) cling to the edge of the open door, waiting
to fly off, but not in, when you attempt to close it; nine huddle
together on a place in the grass about forty feet distant, where a small
coop formerly stood in the prehistoric ages. This small coop was one in
which they lodged for a fortnight when they were younger, and when those
absolutely indelible impressions are formed of which we read in
educational maxims. It was taken away long since, but the nine loyal (or
stupid) Casabiancas cling to the sacred spot where its fou