maternal voice.

"Nuthin', just lookin' for my cap, I'm going out now."

Once more out where he could watch the hens, Willie proceeded to
unload his pockets. He brought to light some sheets of paper, a
pencil, a large needle, a spool of black linen thread and all of the
soaked corn he had been able to put in his pockets.

He tore the paper in strips about an inch wide and three inches long.
On each slip he wrote, "Please keep us home." On the other side,
"Conclusive Evidence."

He cut pieces of string, linen thread, about six inches long, some
longer. With the aid of the needle he threaded a piece of corn on
one end of each string, on the other end he tied one of the slips of
paper. When all were finished he scattered them broadcast over and
about the garden.

"Willie, come to dinner."

No Willie appeared on the scene.

"Willie, dinner is ready."

Still no sign of the lad and his mother started after him with a
queer look in her eye.

Strange was the sight her eyes beheld as she came around the corner
into the front yard. Hens fled before her approach but such funny
looking hens; they all had more or less tags flying from their bills.
They had swallowed the corn but the strings and tags were beyond
their ability to masticate and they blew out defiantly in the breeze.
One tag had become loosened and Mrs. Brown picked it up and read the
scribbled words. While she was thinking just what she ought to do to
Willie, Mrs. Baker came across the yard, bristling like a frightened
porcupine.

"What have you been doing to my hens?" she demanded.

Mrs. Brown, like the efficient woman she was, saw her opportunity
and rose to the occasion.

"Your hens, Mrs. Baker, why nothing. I have been in the kitchen all
the morning until I just came out to call Willie to dinner. Willie
has been keeping the hens out of my garden, not your hens, you know
you have assured me your hens never come over here."

Thinking discretion the better part of valor Mrs. Baker suddenly
remembered something that needed immediate attention and she
hastened to attend to it.

Mrs. Brown watched her out of sight, smiling in appreciation of the
genius she had raised, then she turned and confronted Mrs. Jones,
coldly angry.

"What do you mean, Mrs. Brown, by tagging my hens until they look
like a mark down sale?"

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Jones? Your hens couldn't have
been over here could they? I am sure neither Willie nor I have been
ou